In the Summertime

Sorry. My apologies to the residents of this spaced-out space. I mean it. I have missed you and I love you.

I have had a lot to say. Then again, sometimes nothing at all. (Isn't one supposed to say it best that way? Okay, well) Let me begin at the beginning.

It's summertime in Madras. And yes, wow, that isn't really something to be said since it's always summertime in Madras but honestly, when it comes to April-May (not June, NOT June, June is glorious-since it's my birth month) it becomes especially summertime in this annoyingly homely in comely way city that I call mine. We've been getting geared up to face the consequences because of what Al and Leo have been talking about (read:global warming) but it hasn't been so bad, actually. Oh yes, it did hit 40 and they have been doing some load shedding but hey, it's not murderous. If you stay home and sleep in a cool dark place without moving.

By the way, it did rain this night. The sound of thunder, the smell of wet earth, the flashes of lightning tricking you into almost daytime-ness, I tell you, there have never been more heady intoxication for Chennai since the Super Kings won the IPL last year.

Anyway, summertime for ME (yes, we're back to being self-obsessed. How COULD we veer away from the central focus of this blog for so long?) has always been rejuvenating. Restorative. Therapeutic. Transformative. A singular moment for change (I'm not talking about the current political transition in my home state's government). A breath of fresh air. Summer has always been this collapsible box, this stretchy rubber band expanded into an eternal moment where newness bubbles under the surface of every searing layer, reinvention is palpable and possible, and where I basically get a mental and physical makeover. Oh yeah, the soul too.

However, summertime is also fraught with fear, panic, insecurity and the lifelong question - what am I doing with my life???

I thought I'd escaped it this transition-phase time. But it's back. It's okay. I've become more combative and less sheepish about answering the questions. Aeroplane's teasing me for being the high school dropout after winning gold medals. I'm okay with that. It's just that...I want summertime to make good on its promise for transformation.

I went on one spontaneous holiday. Yercaud-Salem-Trichy. 6 days. That's long for me. More about the actual holiday later. Then Pondicherry for a day. Besides that, it's been long hours at the gym (with no real change..yet!) and lots of Keeping up with the Kardashians. From Khruschev, Kissinger and Kennedy to Kourtney, Kim and Khloe. Wow. I can see a total career path developing here. Smooth.

Okay, more whining later. Next post will be about holidays, positive activities and completing all those inane little tasks that chirped at me during my exams and dissertation oh so long ago.

Seems like it was another life.

Hug

Bursting at the seams! Gimme more, more, more! Life and within it, love, beauty, truth, freedom, colour, laughter, sunshine, rain, song, dance, word, sound, rhythm, stillness, exclamation marks! Let me dance on my imaginary stage, let me jive to the beat in my car, alone, in a sea of unknown vehicles and unknown passersby. Let me be. Let me not choose, let me have it all. Let me sing at the top of my lungs, let me smile at strangers, let me share in their family stories, let me adore them, let them adore me, let us play with children, let us give a ear to those older. Let me cry for you, let me save the world from my deskchair. Let me love my favourite song du jour and let yourself love it with me. Let me be all that I can be, let there be space in this jostling madness for all the me. Let me wander, let me be lost. Let me not worry about what's going to happen to me; let it happen anyway. Let me be young for as long as I like. Let me fall in love with you, then me, then you, then myself all over again. Let me stare at the mirror in wonder. Let me run, please! Let me free, free, free. Let me embrace this maddening and infuriating world in all its candy-coloured, sweltering and freezing, multi-sensory glory, let me grin with dazzling brightness, let me rival the sun. Let me explode before I implode.

Ice cream cones and candy treats

These are buildings designed by Antoni Gaudi, Spanish modernist architect.





This is how castles look in Estarra.

This is how life should be.

Baby, farewell

If I'm less than sunny, don't mind me. That's just how it is in Estarra. I'm only happy when it rains, etc.
A diary is a diary for a reason. Don't worry. And on a happier note, I am practising to not expect and to live entirely in the moment and not hyperventilate about not getting printouts on time or submission at 1 pm. (Breeeaaathe eaaassy.)

Anyway, now I'm okay. Thoroughly thrilled myself at the stationery shop. I guess what shoes is to normal chicks, I get slack-jawed when I stand before shelves of envelopes, Cello ballpoints, folders, sharpeners, blank CDs and the rest. I probably wanted one measly stick file before I reached the venue. But when I get there, I'm like "Gimmmmmmmmeeeeee!"

Putting the final touches on my final project. The one that has undergone a million changes, a million opinions. The one that has made me cry. The one that has made me a zombie. The one whose umbilical cord I cut tomorrow when I hand it over to the department. It's a magazine and trust me, it is not as easy or as frivolous as the word sounds. It sums up my childhood fantasy (wherein 'Triple Moon', a weekly read was well, unread) and my obsession and collection of Vogue, Femina Girl, The Record, Elle, etc. Yes, it sounds shallow and materialistic. But I have had a lifelong affair with magazines and tomorrow I submit MY VERY OWN magazine.

Wish wish wish wish me luck. But at the end of the day, I'm sending it off into the universe on its own. Not gonna care about opinions anymore. NO SIREE.

The Year that Was?

What was 2008?

20th anniversary of my existence...

History was rewritten as a real leader was elected as president of the USA causing an interest in politics as part of popular culture..

So much drama in the friends circle that I would never have seen coming...

Three out of station trips after a hiatus of three years...

New perspectives on age old feelings...

Bollywood attempting to come out of the closet...

A dead actor leaves behind a legendary performance...

Some growing up and a lot of teenage nonsense...

Shifted my Windows Live blog into this! One whole year of blog writing...

And the best part? The fact that so many people visit Estarra (tourism is booming!) and I've gotten so many friends, thanks to this little island of my mind. It's so funny, I never really expected this to happen. And Vimal, you can call me HRH of Estarra. President would be great too. (Kidding. Actually, not)

Happy new year everyone!

The Skinny on Being Thin

I want to be thin.
I've always felt that I was a skinny, uncurvy, athletic tomboy trapped in a well, chubby girl's body. I have felt this way since I was , I don't know, ten? Before that, I used to climb trees and play dodgeball and not care.
Then Hrithik Roshan happened to India. And while all my friends began to drool over him, I drooled over wanting to BE like him . (Did I not mention that I was a weird child?) I began to dance and exercise and got my hair cut really short. (It somehow made me look more er, challenged than boyish, with my curly hair and glasses. Shudder. I hate to recollect those moments of childish insanity).
As I grew out of that phase (thanks be to God that I did!), I had crushes and got crushed in the process. And somehow grew to believe that my chubbiness was the cause of such a situation. Of course, there was the matter of me not being able to bleat a word around the presence of the crush. (Class topper, public speaker, house captain-these designations were harldy daunting compared to saying hello to a boy I fancied. A root canal would've been far less painful.)
So, I did it. I exercised, lost interest in fries and rice and knocked off ten kilos. It made a great difference. Not romantically, but it did wonders to my confidence. I could be loved! I could be a worthy individual and contribute to society!
Well, then I decided to go even more further and shed some more personal gravity this summer and guess what happened. I put on 6 kilos! And my sorrow has been infinite ever since the discovery of this fact (and the painful realisation that 95% of my wardrobe does not fit me).
Like K remarked, "I wish we'd all been born with the perfect bodies we wanted" (I don't know why people who are perfect ALREADY say things like this! He is an ice cream worshipper and can eat all the Toblerones he wants but he still exercises. The dedication of the boy, I tell you. Touchwood for him.)
It's not fair that I got a backache when I went to the gym. It's not fair that pizza is banned for me BY me. It's not fair that all my idol women are thin, thin, thiiinnn (Kareena, Katrina, Shakira, etc) I don't wanna wear kurtas all the time that reach up to my knees. (Well, now I have to. All my skirts have been relegated to the back of the closet). I want to wear skinny jeans and loose clothes without looking bigger than I already am. I want to not nearly kill myself in guilt of having not exercised. I want to jump and hop and skip without people saying "ooohhh earthquake" (well, they USED TO in school. Kids can be so mean.)
Sigh.
But...
A wise person told me (okay, it was K again!) that we are all born with certain flaws and certain perfections. That I should think of all the perfect features that God has given me.
I don't know about perfect features. But I'm sure glad He's given me understanding friends. Thanks for that, God. And well, the Kingdom of Estarra.
But someday........! I hope that gravity shall NOT be on my side...!

Culturally challenged

Yes, I'm culturally challenged.
No, it's not that I have no respect or understanding or interest in culture of any kind. It's just that I have an affinity for ALL of them!
Wait let me explain...
My paternal side of the family is Telugu, with origins way back in Rajasthan...
My maternal side is Malayali but with settlements all over the North of India...
My cousins are half-Bengali and half-Himachali each (with the confusing mix of Malayali blood and Delhiite upbringing thrown in)...
My language of thought and most speech is the colonial inheritance, English (with a medley of Tamil, Hindi, slang and whatever language is closest pulled in)...
My poetry! The language of my heart is Spanish, for its poetry in every phrase, in every word and its capability of expressing my soul (though I barely speak it anymore)...
My music! Music speaks to me most strikingly through Arabic-the whispers of the desert, the wind in the qanun and the hypnotic beat of the derbouka...
My movies! Bollywood and the Hindi dialogues, songs and dances of its films envelop me in their profusion of warmth and colour...
My food! Has to be spicy and colourful and vibrant and over the top. I cannot live without some dose of Andhra food...
My school! Sanskrit was my second language. My reverence for the holy language was a bit dented after 5 years of non-understanding texts that advised me to not hang necklaces around a snake (No offence meant)
My college! French was always a language I appreciated for its exquisite accent (which I practised much on my friends, much to their er..concern for my sanity) and also because it so resembled Spanish.

You would wonder how I survived these many years without tripping over my own tongue. Linguistically, culturally, emotionally... I have no clue where I stand.

What is my mother tongue? (er, English)
What are you? (er, human)
Where are you from? (er,Mommy?)

Oh my, you don't speak Telugu, what a shame. You don't speak Malayalam either? Tsk, tsk.
No I cannot feel pride welling up if I see coconut trees and backwaters. Sure, it's pretty but it isn't mine.
I love my 'mudu-pappu' and mango dal like crazy but I cannot follow a word of the Telugu language and as much as I try to feel guilty about it, I really don't.
And I just don't have a soul to practise Spanish with. It's not much fun being pointed at while you speak to yourself in a 'foreign' language.
And my spoken Hindi shows no improvement despite my Bollywood fixation and the fact that it was my general elective this semester!

So where do I fit in? Where is that home, the place I belong? Where everyone goes on holiday and comes back with unified stories of family, tradition while I take a pinch of nearly everything. I want to understand jokes in Malayalam slang and want to understand the lines to inane Chiranjeevi songs (Big Boss!!!).
I want to speak perfect Hindi and not just ‘hahn, hahn’. I want something to call my OWN. And it’s too late to invent a language. (already did that in Std I…until concerns for my development made me stop)

Maybe that’s why I created Estarra. Hmmm. :)

The Soul Sessions

I don't mean to sound like an email forward or an sms (probably not an sms because I'm pretty long-winded out here in Estarra) on harbouring goodwill for your neighbour, loving life and celebrating every moment and allllllllll those things that come in succulent points as reminders to what you should realise about this short existence. {Even if you do recognise the said things but are not in the mood to care anyway! Especially since those words of wisdom are so hard to follow up on when your neighbour is conniving little twerp or you just crashed your car into someone else's and you have an exam in ten minutes ;), personal note here}
Well, I slightly strayed from the point. What I intended to say is, that I don't mean to sound preachy but everything in life is meant for a reason, a lesson. And I learnt quite a few lessons over the past few days....

Acting as an amateur journalist for the past three days on account of a conference that was conducted in my college, I got to meet a lot of educators and listen to a lot of discussions on the current education system. Informative insights were delivered. From the numerous notes I scribbled, I definitely benefited intellectually and came away with new perspectives on education and learning (not to mention a simultaneous quasi-workshop on journalism-what with the reporting, interviewing and camera work we had to do!) But besides that, I learnt some things which struck a chord in my soul and as 'internet preachy forward' as they sound, just give them an unbiased read... :)

*Each one of us has something to say-old or new, borrowed or original, crystal clear or abstract. But each of us has something to say...and the irrepressible need to say it.

*You are all that belongs to you. So it's natural for you to have a rather keen interest in yourself. But there's so much to learn from the other six billion people that constitute this planet! Seriously!

*Idealistic or otherwise, anybody's vision or dream for a perfect society is meant to be respected and not ridiculed.

*Solutions CAN be found.

*Everybody feels like a star when their opinion is sought. It gives the most often forgotten joy-the joy of feeling important, of feeling needed.

*Talk to everyone! Smile at everyone!

*Work is worship.

*No matter how much you say that your own personal satisfaction is what counts, there is nothing like the appreciation from an external source, especially coming from someone whom you respect and look up to the most. There is nothing to replace that feeling.

*Team work is perhaps much harder than individual effort but immensely rewarding. There is nothing like celebrating as a group, as a makeshift family, tired but tired together.

*Everything turns out alright in the end. :) It really does.

Estarra

"Estarra is a fictional character from the Saga of Seven Suns series of novels by Kevin J. Anderson.
Estarra was the fourth oldest child of the Father and Mother of Theroc and as such did not have a predetermined career like her three older siblings. She was considered a partial tomboy, but still presented wholesome female qualities. Estarra had no true idea of what she want to do with her life, and displayed a loving infatuation with the worldforest (yet had no desire to become a green priest) and the Theroc wildlife in general. She often loved showing her elder brother Beneto some of her more useful findings. Estarra considered herself responsible for Celli, despite the young girl's surly attitude, and was often the subject of teasing.
However, Estarra did achieve high status within the Terran Hanseatic League by marrying the King Peter. At first Estarra did not trust Peter, but in a very short time the two had found trustworthy allies in one another. For Peter, this meant someone he could trust in the trappings of Whisper Palace (he even confided in her about his former life), whilst for Estarra it gave her someone to love and protect her. Over time, their friendship turned into a genuine love for each other, yet the couple were never given a chance to relax due to the schemes of Chairman Wenscelas.
After several years together as King and Queen of the Hansa, Estarra accidentally became pregnant with Peter's child. This unwanted development infuriated Basil, who tried to get her to have an abortion. Instead, Peter sought help from Eldred Cain, and the news was leaked to the media; saving Estarra's baby. Over time, Basil tried more attempts to rid Estarra of her unborn child (and her own life). In retaliation, Peter and Estarra tried to poison the Chairman using highly-poisonous Theroc berries, but failed thanks to Sarein's interference. Finally having enough, Estarra and Peter (with the help of their compy, OX) fled Whisper Palace in a hydrogue derelict. During their escape, the couple encountered Beneto (merged with a verdani treeship) helping the EDF and Ildirans to fend off the hydrogues. Beneto assisted them further in their escape by hurling them far from the battlefield, and to safety.
Free of their imprisonment at Whisper Palace, Estarra and Peter travelled to Theroc for their own safety. Once there, the two were almost instantly dubbed the new Father and Mother of Theroc, from which they went on to announce the forming of a new Spiral Arm confederacy, free of the Hansa's corruption. "

Okay this is what Wikipedia says. And this is NOT why I named my blog so!!!
Just to clarify, the kingdom of Estarra is a fictional kingdom I sketched not so long ago(as a bored 9th standard student, in the back bench of Physics class). It is a kingdom ruled by a queen where peace, love, beauty and joy abound. Where the mountains, the sea and the plains form the terrain of a beautiful landscape. Where the folk speak a number of languages and live together in perfect harmony, etc, etc.
Well, I generally have this problem naming my poems, stories, so on and so forth (God knows what I'll do if I have kids! I'd be so indecisive!) and so I decided since a blog is your own space and all that, I might as well name it after something that I considered to be a kingdom in my own mind.
I assure you, I don't have any problems with reality. :)
But, you're welcome to share my kingdom.