Entertainment on the Roads

While driving on the road, there is a lot of entertainment in the name of shops.

At one corner, our dear Lord Pandhari has become a paan merchant. In another lane, He has become a dry-cleaner. Our revered saint Sai Baba has to play multiple roles in the span of a few kilometers. He is an expert hairdresser, an excellent tailor, and can make amazing kulfi. He is an efficient dabbewala, and a world-class istriwalla. Sri Sai Baba owns a fleet of buses, trucks, and lorries. He can ferry you around in vans or small cars.

Now-a-days, hospitals have even mountain ranges as their namesake. We have the Sahyadri Hospital here, and we also have the Himalaya Healthcare. Unfortunately, the height of the hospitals is not proportional to the height of the mountain ranges.

The Woodlands restaurant is famous for its seafood. It is perhaps the only wood in the world where sea food is abundantly available - for a price, of course.

The Goddess Lakshmi is sometimes forced to supervise hotel management, and the Goddess Saraswati is a very efficient tea-stall manager. Jejuricha Khanderaya makes excellent sweets, and the Lord Krishna provides nutritious and sumptuous breakfast. On the other hand, Krishna's Basuri can conjure up excellent south-Indian food.

You can get good Chinese food in fountain spots, but there will be no fountains around. You can find two chat corners in a single lane that has no corners to speak of.

As I said, driving on the roads can be very entertaining. Shops keep changing, malls keep coming up, roads keep changing directions, and life still goes on.

The Magic of Smells

There is magic in living, and our sense of smell renders this magic possible. Smell can make us happy, smell can make us sad.

I was driving to work the other day. The day had started on a stressful note. I woke up late, had a hell of a time in getting my son ready for school, had no time for breakfast, and got out of the house at a time that was just on this side of respectability. I was tired before starting the day. I was driving to work in the worst possible frame of mind. And I suddenly got a whiff of freshly-made cake. I was instantly transferred to a lazy day in my childhood. I remembered the invaluable time I had when mom had sent me to buy some eggs on a wonderful summer day. My mood just changed; I was suddenly feeling as light as the day of my ancient past.

For me, smells have the power to change my mood. They can make me ride on a huge crest, or sometimes throw me at the bottom of a well. They make me hopeful for my future and nostalgic about my past.

The smell of fallen leaves always reminds me of some of the laziest and happiest days of my childhood. The smell of a wet dog or a horse takes me back to the days that I spent in my mom's office, scampering among the gardens. The smell of a tamarind tree takes me back to my first school. The smell of wooden benches or new notebooks always takes me back to the schooldays.

I feel jittery when I get a whiff of a Camlin eraser - you see, I am still scared of some of my teachers. The smell of mothballs has never failed to make me sad. For some strange reason, this smell reminds me of my dear ones who have now passed away. The smell of books - whether old or new - transfers me to some other plane. I feel happy, nostalgic, and hopeful - all at the same time. My love for books is reinforced. My zest for life is redoubled. (There was a time when life was equivalent to reading books.)

Smells cast a magical spell on all of us. You can smell from afar that there is a new baby in a house. You can understand how welcoming a home is, just from the smell of it.

For me, smells even herald the seasons. I can smell rain in the air a month before the monsoons. Summer has its own lazy smell. The smell of autumn mingles with the smell of the monsoons. It refreshes me and makes me nostalgic at once. Winter steals in with a cozy smell of blankets.

I remember a time when I could not smell the season. I landed in the US for the first time in winter. Winter in my native city in India is vastly different from that in the US. Here there are subtle smells of foliage and winter trees. There is a smell of warm stoves and hot food. In the US, it was as if nature was taking a complete break from life. No smell of any life, not even any whiffs. I felt completely lost. I could not understand the complete absence of smells all around. I started coming back to life at the onset of spring. I could smell the leaves again; I started getting comfortable again.

Smells give colour to my life. They make my life beautiful. my life gets remarkably dull when I get a heavy cold.

A quiet evening

Listening to all my favourite songs after just too long. Feel as if found a part of myself again. Why did I not listen to them earlier? Better late than never. This is just heaven! Am singing along with Babuji and Asha Bhosale. Am imagining myself on a stage with the audience loving my voice!

And suddenly my son goes peep-peep :(.

Having something some of the time is definitely the best part of having nothing most of the time :).

When did I grow up?

I remember my childhood. It seems like yesterday. I remember my fears, my anxieties, my desperation to fit in. I remember the need to make others like me.

I also remember I used to look up to my elders - because they seemed confident. They seemed to know everything in the world. They seemed to have an answer to everything.

I remember looking upto my mom and dad thinking they were the final answer to everything in the world. I remember thinking that no matter what, all my problems will be resolved by them.

I remember this all because I still go through the same emotions. At heart, I am still the small, inconsequential, inconfidant little girl who had to look towards her elders for help. The only difference is that this girl now pretends to be confident. She pretends to know everything, have an answer to everything. She pretends to be the end-all for her own son.

When did I grow up??

My Handwriting

It's been a very old habit - I love to admire my handwriting. I think every person has a tinge of narcissism in her/him. Even I do. I like everything about myself. I love to pretend that I am perfect. And sometimes I feel that my handwriting is indeed perfect. At such times, usually, I have found the perfect pen that enhances the strengths and hides the weaknesses of my handwriting.

Back when I was at an age when I would still love to be picked up by my mom, I used to get a lot of homework from school. I would have to write a lot. I would strive to be consistently impressive in my handwriting. Then I would pretend to be tired, and have my mom pick me up - ostensibly for comfort, but my only intention was to admire my writing from a height.

By this time, my sister learned to write, and I realized that her handwriting was much better than mine. She wrote like an artist, sketched like an artist, and drew like an artist. But the narcissist in me would not let me compare myself to her. Becuase, obviously, my handwriting was perfect. After all, it is impossible to improve perfection.

With college came the rampant use of the ball-pen. I had only used ink-pens in school. The change in pens took a toll on my wirting. But I admired even that. I was of course too academic and intelligent to bother with anything so trivial as my handwriting. I continued my almost illegible journey with my ball-pen right through my post-graduation. All this time, I would be frantically searching for the 'right' pen for my exams. Blue would be an all-time favourite; but sometimes black would win over.

When I started working after my post-graduation, I hardly wrote anything on paper. I was stuck to the computer all the time. It's the same story even today. But nothing excites my creativity like a pen in my hand. Many a times, I just pick up the pen to write long paragraphs just to admire my writing. (Is this one of those instances? - Your call to judge!) All my blogs are first written on a paper, then they are duly admired, and then they are finally put online.

After all, only self-admiration can make us handwriting-narcissists happy.

The Week That Was

I am sitting in a mindless training session right now, and I am thinking of the tasks that I have to finish before I have to leave for the day. I have to finish writing a very important and controversial mail, I have to finish editing a document, and of course, I have to read all news online and check my emails.

I just want this meeting to be over, and get out of this room. I want to get out of this semi-catatonic state, get out, finish my work, and just head home.

Today is Friday. The last day of my work week. Every Friday, I get high hopes about the weekend. Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday seem to be whole stretches of untasted paradise on Friday morning. On Sunday night, they present a whole chain of lost opportunities. It's the same story of every weekend. Monday mornings are perhaps so blue because I keep feeling I missed out a lot of yellow over the weekends.

Nevertheless, this week was much better than some others. Some weeks pass by very quickly, others very slowly. This was amongst the faster ones. It was a remarkable week for me - my son was exceptionally cheerful and happy, my husband came home at a decent time every evening, and I could spend half-an-hour only for myself in the 5 days that were.

Work-wise, it was a very busy week for me. But one interesting thing happened during the past week. My son got admission in a good school. It was such a relief for me and my husband. We had heard such stories about standing in long queues for the form, paying huge amounts for donations, etc., that we still can't believe the phase is over for us. My son starts school in June next year. I am already excited for him!

Thinking of the past week has started me thinking of the weekend - and I want to stop right here. I won't make any plans for the weekend. I will live it as it comes.

Kay lihave?

Aaj baryach divsanni thodi usanta milali. Dokyala phar kashta na deta kahitari lihinyacha prapancha. Pan kay lihave? Ajubajula ghadnarya goshtinbaddal lihave ka? Rajkaran, mahagai, Punyachi rahadari...? Che. Hya baddal pharsa kahi lihinya sarkha urlay kuthe? Ani dokyala kashta na deta hya vishayanvar lihine mhanje...(upama suchat nahi. Mi kahi Pu. La. nave!)
Rojchya jeevana vishayi lihave ka? To tar atishay kantalvana vishay. Mag kay lihave? Hach vichar kartana dokyala phar kashta hot aslyamule lihine ithech thambte, ani kahitari vachat baste.