1O Things I’d tell a 5 year old me :D

1. So you think you’ll ‘grow up’ some day. That there is going to be some sort of a revelation (flourish, trumpets). Tough luck. You might grow taller, weigh more than you did, drink down a lot of books and be tested by time- no matter what, you’ll forever be immature. So will everybody else.Trapped in a bigger frame perhaps, but not any wiser. So stop looking at those 10^th std kids, awe-struck and dumbfounded, thinking that they have heart-to-hearts with their chaddi-buddy Nirvana.

2.Mario’s elusive princess?- Know her? You've been hunting for that pain-in-the-neck-virtual-princess trying to do Mario a favour for over a decade and a half, that over dressed nut is probably flirting with one of the beasts of the game. You’ll never find her. You needn’t throw your bag away as soon as you reach home and help Mario with his love life, it isn’t obligatory.

3. Your mother told you that they were diamonds in the sky, Simba- that they were people you loved who were no longer with you. Wonderful? Yea, brace yourself, for a teacher is going to hop into class and tell you that they’re neither, bursting your complacent bubble, breaking your bow (down will come baby, cradle and all)

4. It’s all right to hate fairy tales. Yea, I know, you hate them. You nod along when your friends chatter away about Cinderella and sleeping beauty and etc etc etc. The whole idea of the prettiest, neatest, good-est girl getting what people thought they really needed- a prince, makes you cringe. Really? If that’s what Cinderella and her battalion wanted, they could suit themselves. But psychologically culturing little girls into believing that they needed a sweet voice, pretty face and a knight in shining armour is pure evil. And besides, you’re converse hasn’t been washed since I don’t know when and your still happy. Period.

5. Think you’re gonna be the master of your chocolate-eating time/qty when you’re big? LOL. It’s been years since you said goodbye to seventeen, take an untimely step towards the fridge to grab a brick of heaven and be prepared to welcome a barrage of verbal arrows, generously sent your way, courtesy de Mum, Grandmum.

6. Those ugly duckling days aren’t gonna stay for long.

7. Can’t get b and d right? Relax, they’ll fall into place soon.

8. Confusion is ubiquitous and to make things worse, eternal. Not all questions can be answered and what the future holds, none but time can tell. Every choice you make is a consensual risk you take and the uncertainty in life is probably its best feature. So, show worry the door out and live life one day at a time.

9. Think that you’ll be left to your own devices once you’ve reached the ever-so-coveted adulthood? Your Grandmothers are going to sit together and rant away on how ‘Thankathinu fashion sense ottum ilya’ (Thankam has absolutely no fashion sense) and unintentionally embarrass you at weddings, enquiring, “Innu kulichuvo kutty?” (“Have you bathed today?”). You’re still going to be pinched for not eating enough dosas, not wearing the kinda clothes they’d have you and not combing your hair as often as they deem appropriate.

10. In some years, fewer than you think, you’re going to hope that by some error in fate you’d be returned to that time that has stealthily slipped into one of Newton’s infinite dimmensions when you could jump into muddy puddles, run behind frogs and hens, your only concern was why your front tooth wasn’t falling off, you could climb and sit on trees, fish with your thorthu mundu at your kolam and sing out loud without worrying yourself tired of whether you were making a fool of yourself.

@Peter Pan- I’m waiting.

Hyderabad...

Unintentionally basking under the magnificent Hyderabad sun, I couldn’t help thinking about the unfair notions with which I had entered the city. Thanks to a few spineless, cross eyed camels i had unwittingly befriended in the past, I had painted the city a dreary blue and expected it to be not any different from them. Shady. Superficial. Insecure.

Much to my surprise (and relief), I had been ignorant and narrow minded to brand a city this filled with zest anything beneath beautiful. The intricate and delicate designs on the buildings get better and one gets pushed into the crescendo of the Mughal architecture once they walk through the gates that guard the Makka masjid. Unlike the traditional Muslim architecture that relies more on size and less on gentle artistic strides, the revered monuments here are a blend of Indian art, cushioning the engineer’s artistic licence to shun the Middle Eastern propensity to build the biggest.

It isn’t just the old side( old shide, my cabbie insists) of the city that makes the place so hauntingly aesthetic, but the way the new and the old exist together, I wouldn’t take the liberty to say that it blends but the city is a strange jigsaw of bullock carts, malls, techies, palmists, cash and cash-less-ness.

I wouldn’t mind walking in the Chudi bazaar for hours at a stretch, the bangles create a riot of colours and the cacophony created by the crowd that dottily bargains away allows the dreamer to disappear into the crowd. I was nudged awake from a reverie when I saw my dad buy the ugliest of chains from over there ( how he managed to find such a hideous piece of jewellery I’d never know, and to pay a hundred for that, Lord! This is one thing I’d like to forget). But I’d keep the hideous chain, a lesser child of a city so beautiful.

‘Lavanya, you better come out with me tomorrow or else I’ll never talk to you again!’ Persistent little cockatoo of a friend dragged a clueless, guilt- infested me to the city today. While she did justice to the ‘reporting’ that was demanded of us, I trotted along aimlessly humming tunes that helped passers-by term me tone deaf. Guilt, never declining and forever on the rise. So reporting, huh, Lavanya? The filthy little voice in my head whispers. Shadap, I snap back. I swear I heard an unforgiving chuckle.

I haven’t done anything worthwhile after the sem break. Haven’t really started my research, haven’t filed any news report, haven’t studied for any of the class tests, haven’t studied for my PG entrance exams, haven’t even done any assignment on my own. I hear the chuckle again.

So little cockatoo and me, we eat breakfast. As I gobble down a ghee roast and a masala dosa(uncouthly), little cockatoo pecks at her food (lady-like-ly) as I think of ordering a third dosa, a pestered, unwashed waiter drags his feet and walks over to us, points at me indignantly and asks cockatoo,’ Eniyum venama?’ (does she want more?).

The next time I was nudged out of my reverie, I found myself and my friends seated in a psychiatrist’s clinic. Cockatoo needs to interview him, she explains. They discuss teenage and emotional instability. I stop him abruptly and rant away about explosive and implosive anger. He says that implosive anger could be treated by practicing yoga. I tell him that I prefer karate, but I fear if I’d lose my cool and hit someone. My friends nod in unison. They know. They’ve been there. They sympathize. He looks at me and reveals that I might need ‘psychiatric attention’. Eh? BS.

So what did I do? I got out, tried to drown my guilt in food, got told that I need psychiatric help, ate a little more, sat on a friend’s bike ( he enquires if I’m alright after the ride, dude, I’ve sat on Gaurango Banerji’s bike. Thrice. No roller coaster could be scarier. Yes of course I’m alright) and strolled back into the college. What have I actually done today? Nothing.

Filthy voice, stop chuckling, will you?

If truth were a tale...

I live on a tree that kisses the moon in a forest far far away

For my hideous face, none would like, nor man, nor beast nor bird of prey

Five suns past my day of birth mercilessly was I thrashed and thrown,

I cried, I wept, I knelt and begged for mercy to be shown;

They cursed, they kicked, they screamed and said, “To evil you bear semblance!”

The heart I had, it withered and died in this pitch dark forest’s obscene silence

But hither hours turned to days, days to months and those to years

Time reformed all, named pain a companion and dispelled all my fears

Until one day, fate dealt a different card

Disbelief stopped my steps and for once the night seemed starred

For beneath a tree she sat, as if in a trance

At that sight did my wilted heart blossom and enhance

For she looked at me and did not flee

But gifted me a smile filled with glee

‘How did you reach this wretched woods? ‘ spoke I

‘I slipped and fell,’ she sang ‘from the endless deep blue sky.’

For days and days we laughed and danced

Not once my ugly past had I glanced

She said she wouldn’t leave me for the heavens above

And promised that I was the only one she’d love

And I forgot all the injustices fate had washed towards my shore

Who could believe that this was life and not a tale or lore?

To adorn her I wanted gems and to the village we drifted to look for them

As she saw the people, I saw her and on her face did an emotion stem

‘They look like me’ she spoke beneath her breath

‘None as beautiful as thou,’ I said, ‘ in life or death.’

Before I retreated to my sleep, I thanked the heavens for a gift so dear

With whom was entwined my every cheer

And then the sun sprang up and scattered light

I waited to hear the maiden’s hum, that dawned my day and wiped my night

But alas! There was nothing I could hear or see but a broken chain and shattered beads

Why had she left? Had I faltered? Didn’t my love shine through my deeds?

While I searched for her through the jungle, to tame my thirst I bent down

And in the lake I saw my answer, and I decide that my hideous self should drown.

Whispers of death

Twisting, twirling, stunning Flame

Should I let thou feel this corrupt me?

I shall, if thou promises to smother my deception,

Kill my greed, and let me breathe no more

How could it ever be wrong if I let thou feast on me?

For I have had no morals

No ounce of merit

Nor a shred of truth or worth

Bending, curling, coiling gold

I see you thirst for me;

For beneath my skin beats a cruel heart

That pumps vile seeds of evil deeds

My soul seeks thy touch

To free itself,

To put my bleeding conscience to an endless slumber

When I come to thee and seek thy help

Spare not my skin, my voice, my treacherous lies

Swallow my smile, my waist, my haunting eyes

For I demand only what I deserve

And death it is for me

Burn me to my deepest depths

Until to the world I am,

But a fable, a dream, a fading tale.

Vroom Vroom CRASH!

The first day I went to my driving school’s office I was disappointingly nonchalant. You’d expect at least an ounce of emotion- eagerness, happiness, nervousness- anything at all! I guess I had too much on my mind that day owing to a bad experience with a loser. If I ever harboured any shade of sentiment, it had nothing to do with driving. Little did I know that I’d get so puzzled by the whole clutch, gear, accelerator thing that I wouldn’t have much on my mental agenda than to survive the day and not to kill any unlucky person who comes in my way!

The first few days at the institute were hideously boring, it took me all the effort that I could muster from the depths of my snoozing soul to keep my eyes open in an attempt to seem interested, wait a second, whom am I trying to kid? In an attempt to seem awake- now that’s what is even remotely close to true! Thanks to small mercies that got over in a couple of days... and then came along the simulator days! Yea I know a couple of you might be snorting and wondering out loud, “what in the world is that? Military training?” Take a chill pill people; with the kind of driving talent I possess, a simulator is something sent down by the angels. After two days on the simulator dodging(rarely) and killing(often) virtual people who lived in the screen of my simulator and never missed a chance to suicide by running into my virtual car, my could-have-been driving instructor, Praseena ( or was it Praseetha? ) decided that since there was a power cut and the simulator wasn’t functioning she’d let us drive. DRIVE. Wasn’t she happy with the number of reel people I killed? Did she want to see real people disfigured or worse dead?

I nudged my sis into the driver’s seat. Yea big sisters are always there to save the day! She’d drive, the power would be back and I could get back to smashing virtual folks, right? WRONG! She did a decent job and before I knew it was my turn to grab the steering wheel... dude, was I nervous! Praseena sat there smiling like someone had stuffed a scale into her mouth and said ‘start’, I gave her an even wider sheepish smile... what the hell was I supposed to do?

I asked myself to take it cool. No Lavanya, it is no big deal! All the people on the streets, that nut from your 12^th math tuitions, if they can drive, you too can! The key is to relax, remember the key, the key, the key. And before I knew it my left hand turned the key and switched the car on. Now that wasn’t hard, was it Lavanya? In a leap of pride that I can only compare to a parent's whose child just won the final round of the spelling bee comp, I took my legs of the clutch and break, unaware that unlike the simulator the car moved on clutch. That’s when I saw all my ancestors and the 5000 Indian Gods in a flash, the car was moving and it would soon crash into my driving school, how ironic that I would wreck the institute that taught me ( or thought they did) to drive with their very own car. I did I what I thought was most sensible then, I ducked under my steering wheel and screamed ,“AMMAAAAAAAAAAAAA “. God came down in the form of Praseena, the nutter who taught her students zilch and had conveniently ignored the need to let the student know that this car ran on clutch, pressed the break, turned to me and said, “Is there any need to get scared?” Nope, none at alone, I’d crash into the building, ruin the car, kill the tutors and myself. How bad could that be? Naah, nothing to worry about! How bad could the death of around 10 people be? India is an over populated country after all! Frankly I don’t remember what I did after that, but from what I heard from my mum I drove around the building and parked the car in its place.

3 more days in the simulator, 3 more days with us trying to figure how to drive the virtual car by killing just a decent amount of virtual humans while Praseena either flirted with other instructors or whiled her time away, chasing the path of a housefly with her eyes.

And then the big day arrived, since Praseena ‘could’ not ‘teach’ us because of her ‘busy schedule’ we got a new instructor! The new guy actually taught something! Now that we were going to ride on the roads we were in a serious need of a real tutor. My sis drives pretty good, and I haven’t killed anyone yet, touchwood, all thanks to our new instructor.

The first day on the road, I scared a fisherman by driving right at him and stopping just a nanometre away. The power of a smile, I thanked god for making me a girl, if there is one thing that girls can do better than boys it is to smile and stealthily slip out of trouble’s treacherous hands. The fisherman’s expression turned from fear at being almost hit, to anger, to calmess, to delight. Of course he’d forgive the helpless girl who was learning to drive, even if she’d almost squashed him!

The fisherman was followed by a couple of school kids and then a middle aged woman- naah! Smiles don’t work on aunties. Hard luck. Am I the only one who drives backwards without using the reverse gear? I’ve made a lot of embarrassing errors, like getting the engine to switch off in the middle of a(well many) busy junction(s), for starters. But hey, I’m improving! And the next class (9th day) I won’t scare any person off their shoes (hopefully, that is..lol)

After all, tomorrow is another day.

Dirty Game

I recently had a chat with a friend on how Facebook enables everyone of us to look smarter than we actually are (naah, that is not what this blog post is about). We all put up statuses that have been copied and pasted from elsewhere and conveniently forget to thank the source, we click ‘like’ on causes and issues that we don’t understand( or worse, don’t give a darn about) and flaunt quiz results that make us look good, but the feature about Facebook that makes us appear smart effortlessly is the one that lets us choose our stance on politics- political views: liberal, humanitarian, communitarian, Marxist etc etc etc, you name it they’ve got it and thankfully they do not ask for an explanation on why we support that form of government.

I wonder how many of us who have blissfully selected liberal, humanitarian etc know the meaning of it? No, Marxism does not mean Che Guevara and Che Guevara is no fashion icon, trust me when I say that he’d be insulted if he saw the way people of today flashed shirts with his face on them all the while being unaware of the pain and effort he had put into uplifting the lower classes of a neo-colonialism infested Cuba ( naah, I’m no Che Guevara fan, as much as I appreciate his efforts, I can never truly support Marxism). A funny thing about Marxism and people is that if you do not support Marxism or own caps and bags with Che Guevara pictures on them when the fire of youth in you is at its burning best people would think that you are lame and if you still support Marxism once you have entered your middle age people think that you’re downright crazy. Yup, funny.

Probably every country would have to change its regime or mode of political thought every once in a while (20 years or so) as no form of government would be permanently feasible. Politics in itself is dynamic, it changes with culture and with each generation that adds to it as they live. We have moved from a tribal society to monarchy , we have been colonialized, have won freedom some 300 years later and then wondered what form of government would be at least an ounce better than being shepherded by the British, we moved to a socialist democracy and then to one that is trying its best to embrace liberal democracy. We changed because we had no choice or because someone amongst us thought that we needed change just for the sake of trying out something new. Who knows? Maybe it was you and me who sat at the corner of the tribal panchayat or meeting group or whatever they called it 2000 years back and gossiped away on how a tribal form of governance was getting boring and that we’d probably do much better with a new exciting chieftain. Or maybe it was you and me who tricked Mangal Pandey into believing that the cartridges were smeared with pig fat... possibilities are, as always, endless!

Every country should begin with a few years of socialistic rule; just a few... to level differences, remove class differentiation- not that we would be able to do much, but a few years as a token of effort wouldn’t hurt. If socialism is allowed to persist for long the class differences and gaps are only going to widen (ironically), apart from a shift in power there wouldn’t be any change because for the survival of any form of government there needs to be a villain and a hero ( in Marxism, the upper and the lower class). Communitarianism on the other hand is blind, oblivious Pollyanna. Communitarianism or humanitarianism, initiates us to believe that we all live to serve each other, as good as it may sound, it is impossible to believe. And those who cling on to its infallibility are going to learn it the hard way, reality check- not everybody is dying to help you. My Libran optimism fails me. Sometimes it is better to be practical. Communitarianism banks on the absence of a real villain, it sees just heroes. Another flaw.

That is why I like the idea of liberalism, the idea that subtly chides us to believe that the villain and the hero are one and that they both fit quite comfortably into every individual. The idea of liberalism is ability to negotiate, to solve our differences and to live together. To live, to reap, to enjoy and when you do all this you can step over people who come in your way but not on them to get your way. It is a science that asks us to live and let live, a science that does not ask us to live for others but to do our best, the ripple effect would help others too. God helps those who help themselves.