My Life, A Cocktail

For a long time in my life, I didn’t know what a dishwasher was. I knew the word, and knew it was a gadget to wash dishes, but the concept of a machine washing my dishes was way beyond my imagination. Of course, I could have researched and found out what it looked like, and what it does, but well, let’s just say it was one of those things that you think about now and then, and do nothing about. Enter Sunnyvale, CA. Every apartment came with a dish washer! Months passed since we moved to our first apartment, and I would just use the dishwasher to keep my dishes after “I” washed them “myself”. How could I trust this machine to possibly remove all that oil and mess from my dishes? And what about that sticky gooey stuff at the bottom of the pan every time my hubby takes a shot at cooking? This machine can’t possibly take out all that? That’s probably what an average Indian housewife thinks of a dishwasher. We cook incredibly different from Americans do, and so the dishwasher possibly would

A dialogue from yesterday’s episode of HOUSE: “I would rather sit watching the birds, than wishing I had wings” reminded me of A dialogue from the movie Signs: “There are two kinds of people in this world, one that believe in miracles and that there is someone out there who will come save us in the time of need, and the other that believe they are all alone and have to watch out for themselves” The question is always the same… Which kind are you?

Some things just remain. I loved teddies and chocolates as a kid. Roses I adored as a teenager. I thought I had overgrown these old favorites. Teddies I never bought these days, and now were more a concern of allergies than anything else. Chocolates I couldn’t eat more than a couple, my throat would start to feel weird. Roses are flowers that rot away. Recently, I bought a cute little leopard cub, from the MGM grand store in Vegas. Since then, I sleep with it on my side, I watch TV with it, and irritate the heck out of my hubby with it. Yesterday, at Costco, I looked at all the holiday special chocolates that adorned the shelves. I can’t say how I resisted that temptation. Each time, at the local Safeway store, I stand gazing at the roses while my hubby finds a shopping cart. It’s probably a girl’s ideal gift, a Teddy, a box of chocolates and roses.

Being an adult, holidays are extremely important. It is the four days we try to squeeze in a whole year’s worth of fun. And it’s the chance to look back, in incredulous shock, at the thought of having had month long vacations as a kid. As a kid, Christmas was special and magical. I don’t exactly know why or how. Me and my sis would hang stockings on the drawers, and sleep the Christmas eve in anticipation. The next day we would convince ourselves that Santa was either fake, or Bahrain was just way to far from the North Pole. And yet, we would try next year. Now, being in the US, Christmas is when the lights are up, and snowman dolls adorn front porches of homes. Its when stores slash their prices and everyone’s shopping for gifts (even Men!!!). Its when you sit down with blue snowy gift wraps and sparkly ribbons and struggle to wrap that uneven box of toy. Its when even the most boring places, banks and the admissions office have candy canes. And the best part of Christmas, my hubby t

So while we were in Vegas, we decided to eat at this restaurant called “Himalayan Indian cuisine”. It was a Nepalese and Indian food place, and the concept excited us all. The ambience was nice, few neat tables, the walls and ceilings inlaid with Himalayan style décor. The server was nice and charming, and teased us to see how far we’d go for spicy food. We all dared to a spice level of 10. The food came fast, and it was delicious. It was indeed spicy, unlike a lot of restaurants here in the US. After the masalledar meal, I craved dessert. I remembered reading something interesting in the dessert menu. I asked for the menu again, and located the item immediately. “Lal Mohan: Two milk based pastries, brown on the outside, nice on the inside with a sweet savoury syrup to top.” Pastries! Yum! Layers of soft cake …. Brown on the outside? Something like Tiramisu may be! Yum yum, and more yum…. When the server brought my order, it was a silver cup. Pastries in a cup!?! Three gulab jamuns!?!

I am officially in “Post Vegas Depression”. The last four days in Las Vegas have been fantastic. Its amazing how just a single street can attract so much attention, have so much energy (and money) flowing in and out. I am missing the glitz of the casinos, the bustling crowds on blackjack tables, the sound of the silver roulette ball and the anticipation of the triple 7’s on the slot machines. For four days life changed drastically from the usual work and bay area life. This was vegas, where “you” can “be”. Until my next trip…

I love it when it’s the weekend. Friday night. Two simple words that can give you so much to look forward to. Its not that I despise my work or cry to go to office everyday (yes, I did cry to go to school), yet, the magic of the weekend can easily cheer me up. The joy of being in the bed for an extra hour or two. The joy of the weekend brunches. The joy of watching the Indian shows that only cast on weekends. The joy of enjoying every single sip of coffee. The joy of so much time and nothing to do. Sunday evenings come with the premonition of a busy week ahead. Monday just confirms it. Another five days until… How does one catch weekenditis?

Things go wrong now and then. Sometimes terribly. The Gotchas of life. And at times like these, it feels like there’s no escape, nowhere to go, no solution. Regret fills your heart with the nasty “if onlys”. You are scared, and if you are lucky, you get to cry. And yet in this turmoil, in this disorder, somewhere, silently, things are falling into place for you. Yes, life is balanced. Order within disorder. Take care.

I have memories from childhood days. Dusherra was 10 fun filled days. It would start with the arrangement of kolu, and inviting neighbors and relatives to our home for vethala pakku. Every evening, there would a yummy snack for prasadam. Maamis and kids would sing beautiful carnatic melodies. Of course, we would get to go to other houses and marvel at their kolu. And the 10 days would end with the fireworks from the huge Ravana statue in the park. Given the chance, I took it. My anni lent me toys for the kolu. With the little place I have in my kitchen counter slab, I arranged the toys. It was colorful. I could have been without it, I could have just let it pass by. I am glad I didn’t. It’s a choice we make. Let’s make festivals matter.

I just finished reading ‘The Witch of Portobello’ by Paulo Coelho. Its not his greatest of works, there are other books I have liked better (Alchemist, Veronika decides to die, Eleven Minutes), but it’s a good read. If asked to sum up the book, its about “Love”. The philosophy being “Love is”. Reminds me of those child day cartoon strips on the newspaper, called Love is. Though the cartoon would always complete that sentence. The book doesn’t. Paulo Coelho says “Love is”. An end in itself. No descriptions, no definitions. Love is. In the skies, in the waters, in the air, in our heads, existing without logic. Without caring if its reciprocated, without caring for commitment, without caring for uncertainty, without caring for time. Love simply is.

Yet again, I have a problem in my head to solve. It’s funny how every Tuesday evening I go to my music class, expecting to relieve stress and relax, and do that one thing I can never get tired of, sing. And almost every Tuesday, I am awarded with something interesting. A thought, a process, a perspective or a question. “What is good music?” As simple as the question sounds, my mind instantly came up with a simple answer. “There is no such thing as good music. All music is good.” As I convinced myself of my answer, there were varied reactions from the others. Some were dumbstruck by the question, some other questioned the question. “Good music probably depends on various parameters like rhythm, diction, melody and so on. How can anyone quantify these parameters?” Yet others based their answers solely on perspective. “I like what I like. Coz that’s me. Others don’t like what I like, and I don’t necessarily like what others like.” My mind soared…. “How can music be bad? Maybe it can, I do

Inspiration finds it way to us, if only we want to be inspired. Its amazing how events, emotions, circumstances, people, conversations, art, music, and so many other things can inspire you to do things related or not. I went to this concert yesterday. It was a casual Hindustani classical music concert by Shri. Shaunak Abhisheki. For those who don’t know him, he’s the son of Shri. Jitendra Abhisheki. Ok, never mind. The point being, I went to this concert, and loved it. He sang an amazing bandish, a khayal, a naatya sangeeth, among other ragas. The day ended perfectly with a mesmerizing bhajan. I enjoy music, and anyone who can sing well can have me impressed. And with every great performance, I sense this energy, that urges me to move ahead, do things I have always wanted to do, achieve things I have wanted to achieve. This energy is not new to me. It happens to me now and then. And I love it when it happens. A couple of months ago, I was pushed to join music classes. The music classes

A lot of times in life we come across problems, thoughts, processes, protocols that we don’t quite agree with. At the same time, the society abides by them, and you are firmly asked to comply. The mind offers resistance, and we either succumb to our resistance or to the external pressure. Whichever path we choose, the resistance continues to remain. Resistance, a lot of times, hinders learning. Not all things in life are as straight forward as object oriented programming or E-R diagrams. Not a lot of people see sense in objects and classes when they first begin to learn OOPs. But they are forced through the learning process, whether they agree with the concepts or not. It is when the learning gets much deeper that you start recognizing the finer aspects, understand and appreciate objects and their attributes and their functionality. What I am trying to say here is, the basic components in any theory may not be attractive, may not be convincing, but where they fit in the whole model is

Yes, I am learning music. Again. Finally. Some interesting conversations that happened in yesterday’s class. I asked, “How can anyone identify the Sur involved in a piece of music, when the concept of Sur is totally relative?” He told me it is one of the most difficult problems in music. People consider the Tanpura as some sort of standard, but it isn’t completely accurate. The solution is being researched, but he said he believed it was one of those non-computable problems. Reminded me of the good great Halting Problem. We were trying to sing different surs in random order. Ofcourse, we faltered. He said, “Understand the problem statement. And then strategize.” We saw we could easily break down the random order into pieces we had already learnt and that made it so much easier to sing. Association and Disassociation. I have always believed, Science, Religion, Spirituality, Art, Music, all these weren’t created to individually exist. They all support each other in some way or the other.

It’s not a movie that people would flock to watch. No, it has no glitz, no glamour. It is possibly the kind of movie you pick up, when you’ve roamed the aisles of the video shop for too long, and are angry and frustrated with the illusion of too much choice. You don’t want to return empty handed after having spent so long, so you just pick up ‘some’ damn movie. The movie times back to the early 19th century and is about this man who waits for the girl he loves. No big deal, huh? Well, he falls in love in his twenties, and waits till about the time he is 70 years old, he waits for her husband to die to be with her again. Come on, no one can be that stupid, isn’t it a plain waste of one’s life, you may want to ask. Yes, it seemed stupid at first to me too. And then from that secret corner of my brain, a thought long thought about, cast aside only coz it never completely made sense, presented itself, this time with a new dress of reason, in a new form. It said to me, “People are different

All day, I sensed this feeling inside me, like I had a news, a news that I wanted to share with my boss. Only, I didn’t know what the news was. Something inside me kept urging me to scrape my brain to try and remember that piece of news. I tried and tried, but nothing came to mind. Eventually, I concluded that it probably was in a dream where I had heard some news that I thought I would go and share with my boss. That happened many days before. Sometimes, even today, I want to remember that news. Dreams can feel more real than you can imagine. I remember back in school when I had this dream, where I meet this friend of mine in a bookstore, dressed in a navy blue fur coat. I had touched the coat in my dream, and till today, can sense its softness. And when you dream such dreams, you start to question. Your concept of reality, your concept of illusions. And somewhere down the line, you come to the conclusion that all that is, is perception. Nothing’s real, nothing’s an illusion. The powe

My hubby was fresh when he got up after his afternoon nap. I asked, “Do you want to go for a movie?” He replied, “What time is the Bank Job?” We were off. We reached there just in time, about 8 minutes before the movie started. We bought tickets, nachos and a large drink. All set. It was a good movie. Based on a true story, it uncovers some dirty secrets as a handful of smart thieves go about looting the safe deposits of a bank. I will not go more into the details. We came out. My hubby said, “How about another movie?” I say, “Ok!” We grab a quick subway sandwich, and are back to the theatre for the next show. For the movie “21”. With a pack of M & Ms. It was a nice movie too. Its about a bunch of MIT students counting cards to make money in the casinos of Las Vegas. It was 1 am. There weren’t any more shows for the night. So we came back home.

Some things you just know. I don’t believe people when they say reason your life out. I think there is more to life that can’t be explained or justified by reasons alone. Like a dear friend used to say, “Man is a meaning-making machine.” Quite so. When I asked another dear friend if he knew what that one gift would be that I would want to get him, he knew the answer right away. When something reminded him of me months later, I knew exactly what it was. When a friend wanted to say something to me, I dreamt about him. When I dreamt about a co-worker quitting, he quit. The day I mentioned to a friend how much I loved macademia covered chocolates, two huge boxes of those chocolates were laid on my office kitchen table. The day I suggested a friend to pursue higher studies, two other friends suggested to him the same. I like to believe it is that power that unites us all. Some call it vibes, some telepathy, others coincidences. I like to think there are things that can be influenced by the

It was not about a week back that we heard about this amusement park from a relative. Hazy descriptions of some of the rides were enough to get me all charged up and bug my hubby to plan a trip. It was going to be Saturday. It is called the Great America Parkway and is located in Santa Clara, off 101. Simply put, our backyard. We reached at about 11 and it took us a while to get our tickets and go through the security checks. We had no clue what laid ahead. Invertigo ‘Thrilling’ is not the word. It takes you up to a reasonable height, and in no time you have descended the slant at a head spinning speed, and are now twisting and turning through the glistening yellow rails you had looked at wonderstruck while you waited in the queue. At that speed, you turn a whole 360 degrees and you don’t realize it until after a while, you try to keep your head still, you have no clue whatever happened to your arms and legs. And then it suddenly stops. Before the world comes dawning upon you, the coas

"A cup of coffee shared with a friend is happiness tasted and time well spent." I have this weird habit of looking at people’s status messages on Gtalk. I kinda like this feature and have been using it ever since I moved from good old Yahoo messenger to the simple and neat Gtalk. The status feature was initially meant to give a hint to friends and family if you are available to chat or busy. And then came the custom status message. I think its really cool and people have been putting it to use for different reasons, sharing a thought or simply expressing their mood. In fact, its amazing to see how many conversations actually start out with these status messages. So that’s how I came across that quote. Coffee. Well, what can I say. My family, being a typical Palghat Iyer family, was brought up to love coffee. The day starts with coffee, and continues with coffee. There are days when there is no salt in the home, but coffee is always stocked up. I have grown up listening to my

And so I learnt to eat with chopsticks! I mostly like Chinese food, with the exception of those soaked and drenched in the magical soya sauce. I have been to numerous Chinese food places, and yet, never felt the desire to learn to use the chopsticks. Even in places where they assumed you knew how to use them, I would casually demand for a fork. Until yesterday. I don’t want to discuss the Chinese restaurant of yesterday, but it was bad. Or atleast bad enough to inspire me to learn a new art. Observation is an art too, that can be both dangerous as well as rewarding. For me, this one time, it sure was constructive. Today, when I went in to warm my lunch, the chopsticks in the office kitchen called out to me. It took me a while till I could finish my little bowl of rice, but it was fun. I am getting better at it, slowly though. Here’s to lots more Chinese food and chopstick days!

Just be yourself and let me see What makes you different than me Why you do a particular thing in a particular way Why you like some things I don’t Why is it you don’t care for me in the same way I care for you And yet I know you care so much Why is it that your definitions for the same words are different than mine Although we share a common dictionary Why is it that you interpret situations in a different way When the same things happen to the both of us Why is it that you scream When I would silently cry Just be yourself and let me see What makes you different than me And when I wake up in the middle of the night I know this difference is what keeps us alive.

And there we were, hurrying to get to Mc D’s lest our favorite BIG breakfast time’s up. We made it precisely five minutes before they could roll the menu boards over. Aaah, the satisfaction of a yummy and filling breakfast! With that done, we set out on the ever crazy 101 to San Francisco. I spent most part of the drive on call with a dear friend who cared enough to look up different addresses and give us directions. By the time I hung up, I could see the signs of the San Francisco Industrial Area carved atop a mountain. I clicked pictures, as I gave directions to my hubby through the buzzing downtown roads. Our first destination. The China Town. I had read enough, as I always do before setting out on a trip, and I loved the first sight of it. Exactly what I had imagined. A trailing series of shops with little knick knacks to sell. Set in the background of the bay, with steep roads going up and down, almost sinusoidal, almost like life. My hubby parked the car a couple of blocks away

Finally, I did it. Today. It was a couple of months ago, when I was still new to work. I had noticed two glass jars with little green leaves of the money plant, that a friendly colleague had at her desk. I had marveled aloud their beauty. The next moment I knew, she walked up to my desk, and placed a glass jar right below the white light. That was when, unwillingly, for a silly comment passed in an attempt to be nice, the responsibility of a living species was thrust on me. No, I did not have the courage to refuse. A week or two passed. A casual glance and I see the water was almost gone, there were more brown leaves than initially green leaves, there were thin slimy roots coiled up. I swore. It was filthy and smelly. I cringed, but cleaned it up. It was almost back to the same dirty state before I left for my vacations. I smirked and escaped, assuming just like my work, someone else would have to take care of it in my absence. I was back, and I met the sight. The sight of the money pl

This morning, as my hubby drove me to office, I spotted a rainbow. Immediately, my eyes wandered in an attempt to spot the other end. I followed the rainbow that grew from the earth, and soared high up to the sky and then faded till it almost disappeared. I traced a trajectory till I spot the other end buried in lush green fields. Rainbows always make me happy. The colors that coalesce in a such way that each color is distinct and yet blended with the other. Humans were meant to be that way too. I remembered the last time I spot a rainbow, when my hubby was to leave over the seas, and I had come to bid him farewell. It seems like so long ago. It feels dreamy now. There is this exhilaration that rainbows bring. I can’t define, I can’t explain. And when I see them, I devour them with my eyes, with my soul, to last the time until I see them again. And that’s how I live my life.

The wind was fierce, and it blew all the snow accumulated by months of winter. The white of the snow made the dark night seem darker. I stood inside the building of a school I had learnt much from. The outside scared me, I waited. In the distance, I saw hazy lights coming towards me. I knew it was him. I stepped out the warmth of the building, into the raging storm. In a moment, my pants felt drenched, my hands froze numb, as the wind blew snow all over my face. I found it hard to open my eyes. I almost stopped. And that’s when he came, cuddled me with his arms, protecting me from the storm, fighting the wind alone, he lead me towards the car. He seated me and when he was assured I was comfortable, took the driver’s seat and rode away.