Bangalore Yap

Life happens when u least expect it. The small tit bits are usually the memorable instances of our lives. After my ordeal with the north, my marriage brought me down south. I had never heard so much of the southern languages earlier. Yeah, being in Bangalore did give me breathers with the banglish yet 'aul is not so simble heere'.


Machha was a novel concept for me. For every sentence came in Macha.. I recognized the word immediately, I am smart, you see. Machha = macho. Many years hence, I understood the true meaning. Yaa another suffix which bangaloreans use, Yaa= yaar. What about Maa & Paa.. ohk they are also suffixes depending on the gender.

This was simpler but worse did come when all (tamil, kannada and malyalam) was thrown at me together. The first morning at our Bangalore house, I was still trying to recollect the names of my new found relatives when I heard, ting ting ting. Some sort of a bell. Suddenly all were running around. Aunties, mummies, daughters… nighties, payjamas saying, Aeyi.. Kasa banthu! Seeing my puzzled look, someone did explain that Kasa came, but who was Kasa? What made them run for it, I learnt it soon. One huge round lady, pushing a cartwheel of garbage. I don’t know if she was bigger or the load, but I knew why all were running.

Over the years, I became wiser and realized that the tone also matters here. One would never say, Venno (do you want? In regular mal) they will sing a song asking, venammmaa! And everything is FULL here no halves mind u! Fuuull right hogi (take extreme right), Fuuull clean maadi (clean it well), Fuuulllaa thorsi (show all items). Bangalore kannada is not that tough, if you have a background in english, hindi and any one, southern language, it’s easy to grasp. Bus= Bus + (u) = bussu, Car= car + (u) = Caroo. Same formula applies to any object eg, soap-u, bed-u etc. Am sure there must be more fundas to explain it fuull, but waat to do macha, no time only!

TO be or NOT to be?

This feeling of to be and not to be is hovering around, since I reached here. To do or not to do. To go or not to go. To help or not to. To take over or not to. To surrender or not to; To share or not; to write or not; to post or not; to forget or not…


I never found life so complicated till now. It’s a feeling of nowhere, no more; which is holding me back. Wish I could be more forthcoming and just get away with these question marks. I try to make it simpler, taking one day at a time but the future makes me anxious. Wish I could grab the pen like old days and write my favourite ‘to do’ list. I love making to-do list and I feel elated to strike through the ‘done’ points. As if those things will never come up again in life, as if I have done away with them. It’s like one tension less.. hmm. Soon I will be back, I have to be back. How it would give me immense peace to cancel out this Number one task.. to or not to be

This day That age..

Joji in his loose khaki shorts and crew cut bent forward holding his large ears. No wonder he was called the elephant eared short boy in class. This was not an unusual sight in a joint family hustling with more than 15 school going kids. A conservative, Christian family living at the city's centre was well known for its hierarchy. Kids were quiet bored hearing stories of great grandfather in Travancore court or the generous men who returned the dowry of jewelers street when great grandmother’s brother was in debt. Grandfather lead the Chaldeans to make their own identity and appa was busy in and out with his high society club mates. After the men left for work in the morning, the day would start for Joji and his siblings. Being the eldest was no fun. All kids looked up to him and nothing could save you from amma’s wrath when she found any of the younger one has got hurt. Amma’s wrath came in the form of ladles, woks or even appam chetties from the kitchen. Not even a class bunk could be missed by her. She had spies everywhere. Rosy or ‘Roci’ as they say, would shout from her classroom, ‘Dii mary!’ (dii is colloquial word for hey/ you for female friends or younger ones) your son didn’t come for class today. CMS high school shared wall with the ancestral house.



The latest Malayalam flick had become a challenge for the 7th graders. The brightly painted posters showed Sujatha in her hero’s arms. The cycle rickshaw adorned with a large mouthpiece was thronged by kids collecting colorful pamphlets. English literature seemed so boring in front of Malayalam melodies; Scarlet o’ Hara can never become Sujatha who caught everyone’s heart with her doe eyes and dark tresses. Then what was the logic of literature class on Friday first show, thought Joji. Soon he was sharing the same enthusiasm with his group. So, it was decided no matter what, Sujatha would soon be conquered. A sick leave with amma’s forged signature will be the savior. Even if she finds out, it was easier to sort matters with amma; a long face and watery eyes would soon melt her heart. After all, being the first born matters.


It was not as easy at it seemed. It was a houseful. Pocket allowance was never a tradition in those days, only timely visits at the grandparents house could get you coins. And this time they were not enough to buy tickets in black. All hopes were shattered seeing the seniors from CMS heading towards the entrance. Babu turned and looked at them with sarcasm, bunch of losers were sitting on the iron railing. Scorching heat was soon turning to beads of sweat, the rattling of soda tray was inviting. Anyway the coins were of no use now thought joji. Gazing at the blue marble in soda, Joji was reminded of his last visit to the same hall with his father. Mr. Bannerjee the owner had invited them for the inauguration. Under the white tent he had proudly accompanied his father on the stage. It was the same soda now but the emotions had changed. Mr. Bannerjee, a dark hefty man.


Mr. Bannerjee?! In no time, a special request was made for six chairs to be laid in the balcony. It was dark inside the hall, but who could miss the fair Sujatha drying her long tresses. Interval bell rung, a peon marched in, with colas for the six. The feeling that followed was mere bliss. As if the whole world was looking up to Joji. Smiling with satisfaction, his heart swelled with pride. Sujatha was so near now. His friends could not have asked for a better mate, one who belonged to the high society, could get them inside without a single pie. Someone called out for Babu from top. Charming Joji waved at the seniors seated at the first row. Grinding teeth couldn’t have been louder.


Moist eyes bid farewell to dying Sujatha . With a lump in his throat, Joji got up to leave. In the darkness of the theatre he wriggled through the crowd, hand-in-hand with Venu. The exit door was like a flash of bulb in the eyes, the blazing bright sun. As the eyes adjusted to the light, he could feel Venu touching his ears and giving it a big clinch! Fiery eyed, he turned; only this time it was Appa.

Chini Hai?!

We had a good laugh this morning seeing so many black suited men lined up to knock on our doors. The situation is very dramatical like the Indian neighbourhood aunty who comes knocking for sugar, but still manages to start her conversation complimenting the new bedspread. Mr. Cameron did quite well in his speech at Bangalore, taking a stand on the Indian job market and the mutual give and take prospects. I wonder what Mr. President has to say about it?
The truth being all black suited visitors, have failed every time, they tried making HIBI or so called immigration laws stricter to save the job for the local duds. So, may be Mr. Obama will talk about Kashmir. No, that won’t land him on the right mat after the recent financial aid to Pakistan. He can’t talk about jobs too after his infamous comments on Indians, so maybe he can talk about China, tch tch tch.. Bhopal? Patents (hope all know that apart from basmati and pashmina they took some 139 patents on yoga too)? Hadley? Wiki leak! oops! I think we will have to wait and watch. Mr. Sarkozy is also waiting outside. He will definitely have something to chat about. French are known for their vanity and charm. He can just get Carla along; Men will drool over her and the women can easily be distracted with Mr. Sarkozy’s designer suits while he delivers his speech, anyways we are not very good at French.

Apart from these, we also have the long list of CWG (common wealth games) guests. So what? If the queen isn’t coming, we will still welcome the rest. We can send our Mallyas later to reclaim our Kohinoor. The problem with us is, we are too sentimental about, ‘Athithi Devo Bhav’. We made swanky T3 just for them! Just see, this time we might even spare our medals for our guests. Jai Ho!

No More a Child's Play

We all adore comics, even the lesser owls (of course, the ‘wise’ British owl, I didn’t mean the Indian connotation) whose childhood was spent on streets and tree tops will also agree (pun was not intended). I was particularly very fond of the girl who left behind spots on anything she touched. It used to be an insert in the very up market Richie rich. Was it Archie’s or Richie rich? I used to be big fan of Archies and secretly of her. It was amusing for me. Everywhere she went she left spots and more spots. Polka dots. Circles and more circles, if you look too deep, you slide down, into the wonderland where Alice had her English tea party. Tea reminds me of the delicious description of snacks by Enid Blyton. Jam and scones, chocolate marshmallows, even if I hadn’t tasted a single thing till my graduation, it was mouthwatering!


Its cynical how these fun targeted tiny characters play with our emotions. Vanity fair, was a series of dramatized fairytales on DD; I was pretty awestruck with the laces and flounces and the fair handsome princes, but I found my solace in literature icons (much more fun to read and add your own fantasies to them) like Tom sawyer, Black Beauty, Moby Dick and Huckleberry Finn to serve my boyish side… I know I was pretending. I still remember my snapshot, hair falling on my eyes, a scrumpy bob cut flattering flared trousers and blue check shirt. It was the best shield when I stood nowhere near the ‘oh so petite’ pretty dames who lived in the world of Hello Kitty and Barbie dolls. Devoid of today’s Hannah Montana (HM), it was Betty and Veronica who introduced me to a teenager’s world.

There would be so many more that I grew up with; trying to find my own identity in those characters. Such is the sweetness of those fantasies that reality is difficult to digest. Those tiny characters were moulded after much thought. May be the 19th century characters were moulded to suit the prevalent customs, language and reader’s profile but the contemporary gold diggers corrupted it further for personal gains. The immediate realization of a new target buyer came across. Soon they guided to new consumerism and were index to the social stature. Brands took away the romance and it became more important to know which brand of cereal does Popeye eat? Or which lip gloss does Miley (from HM fame) uses? Brand is the superhero now.

Playing Soccer @Home

This is little rested piece from my file which I forgot to post as football, vacation and household chores took a front seat in my life. Trying to keep up the pace, I post it now.

Date: Ghana vs Uruguay.(thats all I recall)

All I can think of is football these days. The world cup fever caught me unaware this time. I and sports are like two poles of this round earth but if it still managed to goal me down, then I salute this spirit. An apathetic audience like me watches only the India Pakistan cricket match to support my country; ‘This time for Africa’, Shakira jiggles at the backdrop.


All through, I backed Ghana for being a resident here and felt myself proud as my country became the only African team to survive till the quarter final. Glued to the TV since morning, I found myself enjoying even Spain vs Netherlands match. Accra was of course going mad. The Sunday mass was ended with a special request from the priest to do fasting for Ghana’s victory. The green and yellow flag was flying outside our compound and usually perturbing vuvuzela was a welcome sound today. I think I would have forgiven someone if he blew it right through my ears. But I never understood my own feelings till it all came to an end.

My maid requested for a half day off, to which I smiled and agreed, after all Ghana is playing today! It started raining, all laundry had to be shifted inside, doesn’t matter, Ghana is playing today. Husband came home early, kid got up early. Only one thought, Ghana is playing today. Snacks to be made, pet to be fed. One love again. As soon as the match started, I noticed that my movement leads to Ghana’s loss. So I stuck to my sofa without a second thought to my aching bottom or to the chilly chicken on the stove. I somehow breathed in the half time, trying not to spill the ‘Ghana jar’ which sat right on my head. In the break time I was working against the clock, setting table, washing dishes, being the superwoman. Wish I was Goddess Lakshmi with four hands at my disposal. Half time, penalty time, rest was history. Neither Gyan nor I have been so fateful towards any goal earlier. Hint is at the undercooked Chilly chicken which lacked chilly in it.

Random Thoughts.

Pondering on my next topic for this space, I hovered on many different pieces, wrote some & threw some. Before you think anything, am against wastage of paper. Some things are so small that they don’t make up a topic but so big that they can never be forgotten. Some things can never be written down ‘to the T’; at least by me.


• Jokes, they lose their kick when tried to be put in black and white.

• Tears, they no more remain wet, in the quest for the right words, I lose my thoughts. Sometimes underplay it or exaggerate it. One reason, I couldn’t write about my loved and lost, father.

• Little smiles which my kid gives me every day. Topics which are huge and important for her,” Mumma! You know, my teacher is a living thing!” This is after her first lesson on living and non-living things. “Why Jesus is shame-shame on the cross?” I still can’t pray to him without thinking about the remark.

• Ghanaian speaking fluent Hindi. I was dumbstruck, kept looking at his mouth, how the words were rolling down. He stayed in India for 3 years, Sh**! I also completed three with almost nil knowledge in Twi.

• Embarrassing moments. I have no qualms to write but am not sure if you will get the right picture once I finish. Masahaari-shaakahari has been 'the' favourite with many who know me.

• Facts without sarcasm. I am an honest person and people tend to take my facts as sarcasm and laugh. I am pretty serious most of the times but think they understand the double meaning better. Yes, it does apply to my last piece of crap on this blog about sex and salvation.

• Mistaken identities. I can’t describe how it feels when you are misunderstood for a doctor after interviewing a resident doctor for a magazine’s beauty section. I think, flabbergasted is how I felt, after hearing the medical jargons thrown at me, just because she took me as her supervisor! Another one is rather emotional, when I was showered with blessings for taking down blood pressure for an old village woman. She also thought am her doctor.

• My mathematical prowess in school days. It also comes under the category of embarrassing/ emotional/ weakness/horror. It is one reason; I am who I am today. I could have outwitted the board with my own version of Pythagoras theorem and beta theta, think I messed somewhere and passed. I simply can’t write that here.. as I told; its beyond words!

• Beginning and ending. Once I get an inspiration to write, I am more than happy that half the things are off my brain but it takes me longer than expected to finish a piece. Either it becomes too long or too short. Think it’s the right note to end.
Take care. Will try to write better next time.

COMEDY OF ERRORS: Sex and Salvation

Two living legends, at prime ages, leading invisible empires, millions of followers, two ultimate goals: Sex and Salvation.


I don’t know if I will be spared for this crime; my audacity to write about these two personalities on a single spread. The underlying comedy amuses me. It hit me sometime yesterday that how these two people are characteristic of their age-groups. With time, they have shown utmost perseverance to follow their philosophy and have been successful in getting mass acceptance and come out as icons of contemporary living. With all my guts, I disclose Dalai Lama and Hugh Hefner.

I know you gave a chuckle there. It’s like calling out for your own murder but hey! Did u ever notice that these two men both at eighties are ruling the two invisible empires; the lost Tibet and the d(b)aring Playboys. Both are Kings, both started their journey towards the unconquered dream at a young age. They share one philosophy, what you say is what you preach. My goal is not to put them under one category, bottle them and sell my pickle. It is pure comedy which amuses me and inspires me to tell you about it, and I think I have done that.

No, I am not running away! We all know that the modern gurus tell of nirvana and the new age living. And the instances of sex and salvation being clubbed are more than once. They are the ideal retail mix. Both, sell well. The job is not mine to ridicule one and hype another, because both are poles apart, standing strong in their own ways, but the comedy of errors is not be missed!

Pajamas, Burqa and a cup of Tea.

Shanghai curbs pajamas as daywear, this headline caught my attention. My curiosity lead to one webpage after the other telling how the locals can be found wearing pajamas or nightwear on the streets in broad daylight. As china gains popularity after the fortunate/ unfortunate recession, the Chinese government realized it as a potential risk for its image. The government wanted a well dressed nation for the world expo 2010.


First impression is the last impression. But is it actually the first impression? The fad or should I say the fashion has been deep rooted in the native society. For a newcomer it might be interesting. Many came and many went discussing the origin, the need, of such ‘indecent behavior’ as the Europeans might put it. Well, it’s a different thing, how firangs roam around in our country when they come out on the street. So what’s wrong if the country with the highest growth index thinks it has to be properly dressed for a few million guests? Questioning my own logic, I also say that there is nothing wrong in choosing comfort over looks. The whole point being, freedom of self-expression. Lately, the French government’s decision to curb burqa was also under the spotlight. I followed a heated debate between a woman liberalist and a community representative on telly. The French rulers believe in freedom for all, avoiding discrimination between men and women. Point taken, but what about freedom of choice. It is like removing one ban and putting another. The choice should rather rest on the person using it. Writing this, I am already wandering into many more web pages of my mind. The thin line between proper and improper/ choosing casual wear in casual countries (read- developing countries by the Caucasians)/Religion and customary dressing and many more can be further dissected.
Right now, nothing better than my old pajamas, a cup of tea and watching raindrops sliding down the big plantain leaf.

MERI HINDI

“Jis bhaasha mein socho, usi bhaasha mein likho!” I believed in it. Main abb bhi is baat ko maanti hoon per aaj se pehle kabhi is per amal nahi kiya. Sochti aaj bhi mein hindi mein hoon, per woh bhaasha abb hindi ki shudhhtha se koso door hai.


Mera bachpan Haryana ke hisar shaher mein guzra, jahaan hindi kaafi had tak Haryanvi se prabhavit rehi. Haalanki mein janm se dakshin bhaartiya hoon,per Punjab, uttar Pradesh, Haryana, rajasthan, himachal yeh sabhi kahin na kahin mujhse jude hain. Mere parivaar mein sabhi aaj bhi hindi mein hi dil ki baat zaahir kerte hain. Per aaj mein sochne per majboor hoon ki kyun, aaj tak kabhi maine hindi mein nahi likha? Niraj, Shaily, Ramdhari singh dinkar, munshi premchand, in sabhi ko maine padhaa per kabhi inko apne favourite books ki category mein nahi daala. Woh kya baat hai jo jane austen, Shakespeare, salman rushdie yaa kisi bhi English bhaasha ke writer ko in sabhi mahaan lekhakon se alag kerti hai? Main maanti hoon ki English ek antar-rashtriya bhasha hai jo hamein seemaon ko bhula ker, aapsi mel jhol mein madat kerti hai. Kaafi NRI yeh maanege ki her kisi ‘asian origin’ ke vyakti ko dekhker , zabaan khud hindi mein baat kerne lagti hai. Chahe woh Pakistani, Bangladeshi yaa nepali hi kyon naa ho. Maine tho kai baar dakshin bhartiyo se bhi puchha hoga, do you know hindi? Shaayad main abb bhi hindi mein hi comfortable hoon.

Aisa nahi hai, ki aaj ke baad mein sirf hindi mein hi likhoongi, per yeh ek sawaal hai apne aap se, ki kyun mein apni pyaari hindi ko bhool jaati hoon. Yeh achha hai ki aap zyaada bhashaon ko jaane; unka prayog karen per jo aapka hai usko naa bhoolen. Agli baar yeh koshish zaroor rahegi ki India jaaker English ko kuch der door ker, apni bhaasha mein baat karoon. Jis bhaasha mein sochoon usi mein baat karoon, Hinglish bhi chalegi!

PS: Please don’t brand me shiv sainik, this is just an emotionally motivated piece.

Who are WE?

I call it generation Z. People whose emotions are governed by the social networking sites. Making the right statements at a right time. I talk about saving the planet, saving energy, human rights, political rights and yes, sometimes wander in the simplicity of an earthy lifestyle. Whatever the matter be; it is just right for a thread to start off.


So have we become ‘stupid googlers’? Checking the wiki and adding our experiences to make a comment or is there a gadget revolution. Notebooks & Laptops, have taken control over the expression of emotions. A childhood memory would once take me into a solitude where I was alone and relived those warm moments. Now I have my friends, family, friends of friends, acquaintances, colleagues, the girl I met once at the party and Ouch! Is that my mom in law?! peeping inside too?

Basically shared information. Since when did we become so generous? Sometime back, I never wanted to have a blog, as I didn’t want to share. But once I tried, am thrilled about it. Have we become subjects to Dr. Darwin? Are we evolved as gen z with better ability to share and bring about change? Are we friendlier beings with an addition of a laptop there? I can easily picture the human evolution diagrams in my science book, stone age, Iron age. The bend of the chimpanzee finally straightening up. Just that this time a shiny gadget replaces the stone tool. Okay! I agree that was exaggerated. But we are exaggerating everything to make a statement on the networking site. How many actually turned off their lights on Earth hour? I know many did, “we didn’t have current for 14 hours that day!”, my excuse for not switching off the genset.

So what did I get from this piece? Another thread of comments to express my thoughts.. oh no, please don’t stop commenting, I enjoy comments. Moreover lets evolve! ;)

A Sunny Afternoon of Yesterday

The smell of wet earth from the cooler, matka kulfi wala pedaling his cycle down the street. Kids running from their houses, one head barely visible out of the balcony yells out to him. Before he could stop, many steps rush towards him with 2 rupee coins. Coins wet of perspiration, notes crumpled in fists. A wet tongue tastes the saltiness and then hits the creamy sweetness. Sitting under the cool Gulmohur shade, beads of sweat on the upper lip, relishing slowly as to finish it last. Hiding against the rough, red bricks, fingers trace the cemented creeks. Seeking under the dusty coves under the staircase, someone shouts. Soon sky is orange.
After the sunset, the dusty net doors sighs a springy squeak. Bang! Doors opening and closing. Sweat soaked clothes, sweaty bodies rushing to the fridge. Steel jug with water vapours on the surface. Fingers doodling on the surface of the jug while mum pours out the thick yellow mango shake. The old regulator is pushed hard to 4. Blades making a glide, as if one tries to catch the other. Wet heads, tired legs, open the shiny knob. Silver water gushing out, washing away the day. All is forgotten in the white tube light. Tomorrow is another day.