Now.

'Motivated' is not an adjective I'd ascribe to myself.

I remember this PTA meeting years ago, when a teacher gushed to my parents, "What a motivated child you have!" Mum, Dad, and I muffled the synchronised snort of sarcasm. 'Motivated' is an adjective they wouldn't ascribe to me either.

And yet half the human population that knows me thinks it's seeing an enthusiastic 'bubbly' girl (God how I hate that adjective!!! Bubbly. Bloody hell) who swears by Professor Keating's carpe diem and is always busy doing something new.

The big 'BUT WHY??' question got me wondering though. I mean, the other half of my homo sapien acquaintances knows me too well to see I'm always busy doing nothing! Par exemple. The stack of unread books in my room skyscrapers over the pile of read ones. The 'how-could-you-have-not-heard-this-band??!!' playlists remain unheard. The beautiful paper in my three sketchpads wait for a shape, a line, a Van Gogh-esque dash even. All the places I want to see (forget the ones from the World's Great Wonders lists, I haven't been to all the parks in my own city yet) are still just words on one of my many, many lists. Lists of things to do, of things that might never get done...

Maybe that's it. People think I'm motivated because I'm always planning the grand things I'll do. And every time I gaze in admiration and envy at truly motivated people (who can somehow derive so much from the smallest slivers of inspiration life has to offer) and vow that tomorrow will be a brighter, more creative day, someone or something nudges me back to that comfort zone, with a whisper of 'There's always time, and your whole life ahead'.

Well, I don't think so any more. 21 suddenly seems too many years to be wasted.

Carpe Diem. There are millions of things to do. And I'm going to do them.

The silence of the lamb

All around me, people are fighting for their causes. Pro-feminist, anti-Michael Jackson, pro-LTTE, anti-establishment, anti-Federer, pro-Hindi, anti-Tamil. Some of these could be just exaggerated personal opinions, but they're still those things that the person firmly believes in, stands up for, blogs/tweets about, and spends most of his/her time building elaborate arguments around.

And here I am, the quiet one.

When the college-seats-reservation issue blew up a few years ago, I silently watched the pro- and anti- protests on TV; and while my friends discussed their takes on the debacle, I wondered if I was the only one who seemed to have no opinion/reaction to the whole thing. And last year, when most of the college took to the streets to protest the Sri Lankan government's 'atrocities', I stayed back, watching, as always, from the sidelines...

I've often wondered - with some amount of guilt - if this is cowardice, apathy, a lack of good reason and judgement, a 'weakness' of some sort, or simply stupidity. There's always someone around to remind me that having no cause to fight for in life means I can't cast aspersions on popular debate issues, or voice my 'balanced' opinions on them. I say 'balanced' because 90% of the time, I don't take sides: somehow the presence of two distinct voices on either side of these blurry lines has convinced me that both can have the tiniest hints of truth and the tiniest slivers of falsity in equal measure. I mean...who's to decide??

And therein lies my weakness/apathy/lack of opinion. But wait, I should rephrase that. I do have strong opinions on some things (as some of this blog's readers will vouch for), but even those tend to sway at the slightest provocation. Hey, I'm a Libran, so I can't be blamed (my excuse for everything from mood swings to character flaws...see how this entire post itself is tottering to and fro?) :)

But alas. Who really cares about my opinions on anything other than politics, sport, and world peace? Sigh. I have no idea where to start fixing this 'problem'. Someone suggest a cause then, and I shall become its guerilla fighter. Don't ask me about the white flag that I might suddenly spring on you though. I'm a Libran, remember? :)

The Big Indian Wedding Reception

I knew, as soon as we passed the girls with the rose-water at the entrance, who looked like Kingfisher air-hostesses (the ones who all seem to have come out of the same mold, complete with matching shade of blush and more-plastic-than-Barbie smiles), that it was going to be another hilarious wedding reception.

And here's the thing about all the receptions I've been to: at the end of each one, I seriously wonder how otherwise-perfectly-sane people go crazy when it comes to informing the world of their union in holy matrimony. Or maybe they're just putting up with Ma and Pa's wish for a splashy show. Either way, it's the poor attendee who bears the gruesome memories of it. So please, I beg you to sympathize with me.

And here I take a let-me-slap-hand-against-forehead moment's rest, because if there's one tragedy that has befallen the Indian wedding scene, it is the transition from good ol' 'Go onstage, cut cake, receive gifts, eat biryani, live happily-ever-after' to toasts, introductions, bride and groom praising each other sessions, dance floors (dear God!!!), gourmet cuisine, and wedding favours evolving from thenga-and-fruits to monogrammed return gifts with the couple's pictures on it (I kid you not).

Now now, a clarification: of course I'm not against any of the latter...me who hopes to be a wedding planner someday, me who watches romantic movies primarily for the wedding scenes, me, who (as is already evident) has strong opinions on weddings and how they shape up. I'm all for modern, personalized, memorable twists to weddings and receptions. But all I have to say is, all this might work in the You Ess Of A. If you can't pull it off here, however, please don't.

For example. At the reception I began describing, a 'welcome-drink' (exotic fruit punch, no less) greeted us even before we could seat our behinds on the grand chairs in the grand interiors of the grand reception hall in one of Chennai's grand hotels (which, suggestively, is named GRT GRAND). We had arrived just as the bride's brother, self-proclaimed yem-cee of the event, had begun introducing the couple.

And now would be a good time to mention that everyone in this family (by which I mean bridal and groom party combined), and everyone attached to the family in some way (by which I mean the priest who solemnized the occasion) had one comic trait in common: an American accent. So while the hapless audience attempted to decipher what was being said during the toast, the introductions of the bride and groom, and the prayer, the hosts continued in what they considered perfectly intelligible English. The interjections of a badly set up mic did nothing to help the proceedings. And all the while, we had to tolerate a slideshow of kiddie pics of the bride and groom. 'Isn't that a cute idea??!', my mother whispered. Don't even think about it, the look on my face said.

The only two things that were retained from 'Ye Olde Receptions of Years Past' then followed:

1) The instrumental music CD (which I think is secretly passed around among ALL the families of South India), featuring beautiful old songs like Raaja Raaja Cholan, Kanne Kalaimaane and Nee Paadhi Naan Paadhi Kanne mercilessly massacred through terrible violin and piano riffs(in times like this you wish they'd actually hired The Chennai Police Brass Band instead)...

2) ...And the gift-giving session, to which they thankfully did not add any American updates. It featured the usual queue, with people who peeped over our shoulders to check if their gift was bigger and better wrapped than ours, the usual mother-of-the-bride who pointed at me and exclaimed loudly, 'I remember you when you were theeees small!!!', and the usual big-smiles-in-a-row group photo.

(Well thank God for the things that never change!!)

Anyway, back to modern sophistication. I was sure the dinner would be an affair to remember, and of course, wasn't disappointed. The entrance to the 'banquet hall' flaunted a huge statue of Le Statue de Liberte (going with the American theme, in case it wasn't all that clear) carved from some ivory coloured waxy substance. After being reluctantly pulled away from it by concerned parents (I wanted to check if it was edible!! sigh), we approached the dinner table.

And this is where I draw the line. Yes, there was chicken biryani, mutton curry, vegetarian-food-I-don't-even-care-to-mention for the vegetarians, trifle for dessert, etc etc...Alleluia for all that. But cold pasta and russian salad????????? At a wedding reception??!!!! I mean, WHY??

Sigh Sigh Sigh. Things fall apart. I have no idea what the world is coming to. Readers of this post...please organize a wedding reception I will enjoy. Don't invite me otherwise :)

[In retrospect...I think all this is actually displaced anger for not having received a piece of the

wedding cake :) ]

Drops of salty water

Why have I always underrated crying?

For years I had this strong-girls-don't-cry trend going, forcing myself to believe that the sight of tears on Poshgit's face would somehow reduce her standing in the eyes of the beholders around her. That if people saw me cry, it would be the last barrier breached, the one that confidently proclaimed to the world that she, like everyone other normal human being, also cried.

Of course, it's not like I never did. I just didn't very often. And I hated -oh, well, still hate- to let people see or know when my lachrymal glands are in overdrive. Who doesn't, I know I know. But for a long time, crying to me was just something silly, ugly, annoying, and a waste of time.

That was before the headaches.

The headaches that arrive from trying soo hard to control your tears that they collect in your vitreous chambers and brain cavities and come really close to causing hydrocephaly. The headaches that kept yelling in shrill siren voices: you need to cry, you need to cry. The headaches that make you realise that those Miss Worlds and Oscar winners actually have a point.

And so, I started crying.

First, not that regularly. Then, with a regularity that was, surprisingly, not-so-alarming. And I've been crying ever since. And here's why I strongly recommend it. And this is in many ways an attempt to re-convince myself on the benefits of a good sob :)

Crying is good. Because sometimes everything doesn't have to make sense all the time, and you'd rather just let the floodgates open rather than think too much. Because thinking too much can also make you cry sometimes, and well, that's not too bad a thing either. Because it really is a kind of release, in a very literal sense. Because quite simply, crying isn't always a bad thing. I mean, apart from those marathon ones that drag themselves out over anything from 24 hours to a whole week, I'm actually oddly glad that the tiny tears can come just as easily. The ones during movies, listening to a song, or twisting a muscle. These days, I don't give a $%^$. Just cry you stupid woman, I tell myself. And I do. And it helps.

And it's good to finally, finally actually admit it :)

P.S. Those marathon ones? They don't make you feel the greatest, and the consequences are especially annoying, since the whole world wants to know -with concern on the furrowed brow- 'Why did you cry??!'

And in such times, hey, what could possibly be better than to cry more!!! Viva la rasgones :)

BLUE

At precisely 5:16 for the last six or seven mornings, my eyes have been glued wide open to the view from the bedroom window.

The sky, so blue.

The bluest of blues.

I couldn't stop looking, amazed. A blue so blue it threatened to engulf everything. A pulsing, brighter-than-the-curve-of-a-peacock's-neck blue. Drowning the branches and leaves silhouetted against it. Overpowering that brightest of bright colours, the red clumps of Gulmohar flowers. A blue that seeped through the gaps between the twigs as I watched, filling in the spaces that form spindly faces and maps. A throbbing blue, swallowing the tree whole.

Such a beautiful BLUE.

P.S. The blue of those stockings was the closest thing the World Wide Web has to offer as a means of illustrating my post. But you'd have to see the real blue to believe it :)

I thought I knew a lot of things. But with every passing day I realize just how little I do know.

And that, feels good to know.

Sigh. Sigh. Beautiful-ness.

Watercolour travel sketchbooks from Canadian artist Prashant Miranda. Makes me want to get off my lazy butt and just write, write, write...and draw, draw, draw. Sigh. More here.





And these watercolour illustrations from Sara Singh have left me gaping. Look at those ribbons!! And that curl of smoke!!! Sigh, such absolute brilliance. More here.

Yours truly is well and truly inspired...hopefully her blog will someday turn into an art blog too :) And while we are on the awesome art wave, also check out Masala Chai!!!

Now I'm off to create :)

Right Now.

There's this feeling.

When all your big assignments are done...when all that remains to your post-graduation life is only the hug-giving, trying-to-shed-tears involving convocation ceremony...when you're home for one of those rare whole-family-happiness weekends...when you know a job at one of the best newspapers in town is waiting for you in June, even when people who've been in the same job all their lives are getting laid-off...

It's this feeling you get somewhere near your diaphragm. The bottom of your heart and the top of your stomach. Complete satisfaction. Staring at the ceiling, happy, content to be doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. You sigh,and then sigh again. Sigh. I have nothing to do, life is good, and the days to come offer more hope and more satisfaction.

I don't know if I should start calling it luck,the fact that I'm blessed with good things in life. Or maybe it's just the sometimes silly, sometimes very useful characteristic of being born with a pair of rose-tinted glasses affixed to my eyes :)

There is always, always something around to keep that bledy smug I'm-sooo-loving-life smile on my face...It's songs I obsessed over in school and have found again on the radio. Food, glorious food, thank God for its abundance in the world. It's a gorgeous sketchbook that's urging me to resurrect my love for drawing. Receiving a message from a friend I thought I'd never hear from again. It's also, quite embarrassing as it may be, the glow of pride on my parents' faces when they tell every guest who comes a-calling, 'She's going to be working at The Hindu!!' -red face, 'Ma puhleese stop saying that!!' look on my mug-

God. What a good feeling to know all is right in my world. Sigh. Why the hell can't it last everyday? :(

Aside:

A lucky 13 days to my blog's second birthday. Remorselessly considering challenging the competition for the most-neglected-blog award (head hangs in shame) But to the fruit-of-my-labour's credit...every time I see that white 'B' on the orange logo, it makes me want to write more, and to be a better writer. Thank you for that, Slob's Blog my love :)

(I'm too lazy to even think of a title for this post) :)

Here it is, the result of my all-time laziness high...the first post of the New Year is plagiarized from FB for lack of better things to write about (even though, of course, there is SO much to blog about!) But yes, this be the Slob's Blog (wow, that sounded nice!) and you'll just have to deal with that... :)


Rules:
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. (Good God, what were the people who started this thinking!!! 25 things????)

Sigh...deep breath...here goes...

1. I WISH I could wish for food and make it appear immediately. Desperately wanting fried chicken at two in the night in the hostel, and going out and eating it later the next day, are definitely not the same things... :(

2. I love cracking my knuckles...I just did it three times in the last half hour :)

3. I think Coldplay is God.

4. One of the most annoying things in the world is the itchy feeling in my nose just before I sneeze... &$&^$*&%(&

5. I wish I was a dancer. A good one.

6. There's something too bloody beautiful about roses. Especially white ones :)

7. I'm scared of waxing. And the upper lip thingy too. OUCH.

8. I wonder why people have great expectations of me. (Like 25 things to list!!! Yeesh...)

9. But anyway...I LOVE making lists :)

10. I like it when guys smell nice :)

11. I'm afraid of lizards. Those sickly brown disgusting house ballees...(shuddering at the the thought of those things!)

12. I love it when the first pair of jeans I try on in a shop fits :)

13. One of the nicest feelings in the world is when you pee after holding it up for a really loooong time... :)

14. My Mum's chicken soup is the BEST in the world. No arguments.

15. I love making hand-made gifts for people. And I wish I'd receive more of them too ;)

16. I am OBSESSED with my hair looking perfect all the time :)

17. I hate people looking at the screen when I type -hint to certain peeping Toms- :)

18. I hate people waking me up in the morning. Or at any time of the day, for that matter. Let sleeping doggies lie please.

19. I don't understand matters of business, tax, stock markets, etc. I can't.

20. But I won my first game of scrabble with words like 'equity' and 'debt'!!! Yay :)

21. I like to think...believe...that dreams come true :)

22. I LOVE TO LAUGH.

23. I consider my teddy bear Theo a real person. Don't laugh...He is!!! :)

24. I hate it when people talk loudly.

25. One of my favourite activities is trying to figure out what the other person is thinking... which is what I'm doing right now, thinking of all the people who will read this :)

Well......

It's been three long months and a whole lot of life that's gone by since that last post...well...I just realized that one of the nicest feelings in the world (after 'peeing after holding it up for a REALLY long time' and 'the warmth of hot soup flowing down your throat on a cold day') is seeing a 'New Post' window on Blogger at the familiar time of one in the night :) It's good to be blogging again! And while I get myself to write 'I shall update my blog more regularly' a 100 times, here are more realizations/thoughts/random nonsense crammed inside supposedly-overworked brain...

I've realized...

• that no matter how much fun you have with friends, and how much you fight with your parents, home is truly where the heart is.
• that it's ok to not be nice to everyone all the time...and to not care too much about what people say or think about you. Really.
• that 'group work' really means 'screw you, I'll do my part and not care about the 'teamwork' until it's time for me to give testimony against the slackers.' :)
• that no matter how hard you try to think of recounting your 'happening' life in an 'interesting' new blog post, it most often turns out to be a crappy self-reflection piece (like this one I'm writin now.)
• that you should never say no to ice cream. Ever.
• that some things are so beautiful that 'beautiful' seems like the most insufficient and unsuitable word to describe them.
• that it's not too late to study everything I've ever wanted to...and wishing that we didn't need jobs in life, and that someone would just pay us to read, travel, dance, eat, and laugh till we die :)