A to Z Challenge: Hanged

Rini jerked upright and urgently scanned the room with searching eyes. She was still in bed. It was just before dawn. She leaned back on the headboard, gazing out of the glass pane of the window. The horizon was still a faint line in the distance with a golden tinge just peeping over it. The light was filtering in slowly through the pane covering Rini in iridescent dust. But the last thing on her mind this morning was the sunrise. Once again she had woken up with a wildly beating heart, covered in sweat, running in her dreams from dangers she could not recollect.

Today however there was a difference. She woke up remembering. She knew what she had dreamt was unlikely and  probably something she would never witness. But why did she wake up with such a sense of disturbance like it was real? The high beep of the alarm radio brought her back from her thoughts. It was time to kick start the day. She hoped it would be a good day. As good at least as it would get, with her disturbing dreams and distracted mind.

As she looked into the mirror, adjusting her make up, Rini had a Ring moment. You know the one in which appears in the mirror behind you. Her vision made her throat dry up and she choked on her scream. She turned back wildly and found only air.  She thought for a moment that her dream had come to life. The hanging tree and the man hanged from it had flashed behind her on the mirror. This day was going to be a long one.

Battle Hymns, Fundamentalism and other stories- 2015 Reading Challenge

Finished the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother today. It's an interesting book, funny and poignant. I was definitely not shocked, outraged or anything else of that sort, that's probably cause I am "Asian" in a manner of speaking. It was more about the difficult relationships that mothers and daughters have with each other, especially during those angsty teenage years. I guess I am more like the younger daughter- I gave up on learning an instrument and on learning classical dance, which my mother would have liked. A refreshing tongue in cheek look at rebellion and control.

The Reluctant Fundamentalist- This was a book I went back to. The first time I read it, it did not go down well with me and I gave up on it. There is something about the cadence of this book. You need to be in a certain frame of mind to read this book. It puts forth the changes that the so called bourgeois undergo  when they move to a new country and how a disaster can make you take action in unforeseen ways, urging you to return to your roots. It is a confusing, cheeky and weirdly funny book.  

I have previously read only one book of Jostein Gaarder. I should thank a neighbor of mine for the introduction to Sophie' s World. Gripping bite sized chunks of philosophy suitable for consumption by all ages is the best descriptor I can apply to his writing. The Solitaire mystery explores destiny, family and all philosophy surrounding the dimensions in which we exist. With strong veins of Greek philosophy and ideas running through it, we follow Hans Thomas on a quest of self discovery and an understanding of the world around us and the mystery of our creation.

Now I am switching between three more books- Gora by Rabindranath Tagore, The Photograph by Penelope Lively and Running through the family by Ondaatje. 

A hard Sunday's work

Let it go

Writer's Block- Then and Now

If wishes were horses, I would be on vacation

Vacations, in my mind, the single most important deterrent to not growing up. Summer vacations are the most magical time of all in a child's life. They are the best part of school in my head. Whether you stay at home and roast in the sun cycling at top speed with your best friends, visit cooler climes in India or outside, take a long trip to your grandparents, they are definitely the time of the school year you look forward to the most. Unless, of course, your birthday comes during the summer holidays and you are disappointed with not celebrating it in school.

My vacations at my grandparents' house is the stuff of my most vivid memories probably because it was the most consistent one I took. It was inevitable that we landed up there for at least a month. I never really cared about cool vacations like going to someplace exotic. As long as I got out of my house, I was a happy child. The packing was always a bone of contention between my Mom and me. I would pile on all the games and books and toys I possibly could into my bags, leaving out essentials like my clothes and holiday homework or fight for a dedicated bag to carry all my hobby stuff. My mom who had to carry our bags onward and carry an even larger load ( filled with care packages) on the return journey rightly applied her veto power to ensure that I did nothing of the sort. Though, once my board game proved to be a propitious past time for the entire family. We were all addicted to Brainvita that summer.

Those were the days of limited cable television. Satellite dishes that towered over prosperous looking buildings alone. Junction boxes at the end of the street served the entire area. The couple who lived at the end of our street would shut off the power in their house when they went for their evening walks disrupting service to the populace in the vicinity. This was not the time of 24*7 programming. Rather one had to wait until 12 pm for the telecasts to begin. I ended up watching some old video tapes that had BBC series and Sesame Street and Mickey cartoons recorded on them. The high point of these videos was Mickey's Fantasia. The absolute low point was a scary vampire baby show. I definitely watched that show too early in my life.

In the hot afternoons when everyone was sleeping, I would build elaborate towns and cities of mud, stones and leaves. I laid out paths and roads and even a tiny swimming pool. I then even tried to divert a stream of ant traffic in this direction, but they were having none of it. Guava trees and custard apple trees were ones on which I attempted my tree climbing skills or I clung to the trunk of the coconut tree and counted how long I could hold on. I loved watering plants with my grandfather in the evenings and plucking curry leaves right off the tree for my grandmother.

The trips we planned are a whole story onto themselves. From a hydro electric power plant to a palace filled with artefacts to waterfalls, we covered the gamut of locations that lay in a four to six hour radius around us. We planned elaborate picnic lunches and breakfasts and packed the trunk with all sorts of travel paraphernalia before setting off. I still remember eating idlies with spicy chutney with the windmills on the side of the road whipping the wind through my hair and keeping an eye out for monkeys when eating by the waterfalls. I was initially terrified of wateefalls and their thudding waters especially the Coutralam falls. I later came to enjoy them so much more  so much so that I refused to get out of an artificial waterfall that we had all to ourselves. It was almost like a head massage that puts you to sleep gently.I made a game of spotting the lion tailed macaque and making up stories about the palaces we saw. 

It wasn't just all fun though. My holiday homework was always taken seriously. My grandad made me read Tamil stories aloud for practice, if not for him I would still be sounding Tamil out letter by letter. One of the more torturous assignments I had was writing out a diet chart of everything I ate that day.

These memories belong to a simpler time, not for the entire world like the cliche goes but just for me. When life was less complicated and the only question in my head when I woke up was what's for breakfast. I miss these vacations and vacations of all sorts. I wish I could have a second helping of them.

Weekenders

This weekend started with a trip to the movies with Yennai Arindhal. Ajith and Trisha look very good and Arun Vijay is brilliant, that's about the best thing I can say about the movie. Also the fact that the sight of some watercolors in the movie, inspired me to learn a new technique of painting yesterday. I figure that Gautam Menon has a serious case of writer's block. While I am with him on the idea of making trilogies and cop movies, I cannot presume to understand why he chooses to tell the same story in the same fashion over and over again. I can only say I am glad that I watched it at a discounted ticket price.

'Single Wife' - I finished reading this book yesterday morning. Thanks to my recent reading habits, Scribd app chose to recommend this book to me. Grace is a creative, intelligent woman who is very satisfied with her lot in life. Things change when her husband walks out of the house one day. Initially she suspects that it is like one of his usual disappearances, when he returns after a few days of being incommunicado. Each time he goes missing, based on his reaction on returning, she keeps whittling down the people she informs about his being MIA. This time, she distances herself from the occurrence and refuses to talk about it to her friends and family, still pretending like he is around. She begins secretly investigating his life, discovering things that she did not expect and does not want to know. On the other hand, she misses all the information about her husband on the media and therefore remains puzzled by certain gifts and surprises that she receives. The novel is about her choices and how she decides to proceed with her life.

Did some baking experiments over the weekend. Baked 4 cookies a batch to get a feel for my oven as they call it. Ended up with some burnt, some crisp, some perfect and some soft. I made nan khathai biscuits this Saturday.  Nan Khathais are considered an Afghani/ Iranian invention- nan obviously meaning bread like the butter naans we eat. Khathai is debatable, some people believe it stands for Cathay- meaning China. The best thing about this cookie is its unique taste and texture. Unique taste- because of the cardamom, ghee and yoghurt and texture because it is crunchy out and melty inside.

To make these Indian Shortbreads as Jamie Oliver calls them you will need:
1/2 cup ghee or 1/2 cup soft butter- I used ghee
3/4 cup  powdered sugar
1.5 cups maida
1/4 cup gram flour
1/4 tsp cardamom powder & 1/4 tsp nutmeg powder or 1/2 tsp cardamom powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
2 tbsp of yoghurt
1-2 tsp of milk/water
chopped pista nuts (optional)

The method:
Cream together the sugar and ghee to a smooth paste.
Once it is mixed thoroughly and the sugar has dissolved, add maida, gram flour, cardamom powder and baking soda and knead together.
Add the yoghurt to bring together.
Add water/milk only if the dough appears too dry.
Refrigerate for a couple of hours to make rolling easy.
Roll medium sized balls of dough between your palms
Arrange at a decent distance from each other on an ungreased baking tray. Decent distance because we will press them down and they will expand when baked. Ungreased because we don't want it to burn from the bottom.
Press down criss cross patterns with a fork and slightly flatten the balls.
Top with some chopped pista nuts.
Bake in a pre heated oven at 190 degrees celsius for abt 10-15 minutes. They shouldn't brown on top. Just allow them to brown along the edges. I had to watch these like a hawk.
When you take them out of the oven, they will be soft. Leave them to cool on the tray for a couple of minutes before transferring them to the rack.
They will eventually cool and harden completely.

I spent the first part of Sunday lazing in Om Made Cafe eating their yummy brunch- I really liked their spaghetti and their roasted corn spread. Actually, all the tapenades and bruschettas were really tasty and refreshing as was my blueberry lemonade. They allow you to lounge there from 12 pm -4 pm. It's a good spread and a relaxing place to hang out. The latter part of the day was  used for my watercolor and charcoal experiments mentioned in the first paragraph. I finally figured how to use my watercolors instead of going over them with a heavy hand, I never knew that you had to do a coat of plain water before putting in the colors until yesterday.

Here are some of the results:

Guilty as Charged

I tapped my fingers impatiently on my desk, earning a glare from the judge and the prosecutor. My client, Mr. Kantilal did not look any happier. I did not blame him, considering the fact that I looked like I would rather be somewhere else. I indeed would rather be where Ani needed me. Ani aka Aniruddh, friend, guide, co-conspirator and partner in crime. I have known Ani my whole life, we have been neighbours and friends ever since I was born, well practically since I was born.

My phone buzzed for the nth time, vibrating silently in my pocket. I knew it was him. Ani had called me about 50 times in the past hour. The especially crabby Judge Gupta had not deigned to grant us a recess. He wanted the day over with and was anxious to bring our case to a close. The prosecutor droned on with his closing argument. I hoped that the judge's bored expression meant it would end in a favorable decision for us. Harsh Uncle and Maya Aunty were like my second set of parents, I lived with them all day almost, going home only to sleep.

Ani rubbed his forehead in frustration as he glanced at the clock. It was already 6. Where was Kiran when he needed her? He sank down on the wooden bench next to him. Even if she made it on time, there was nothing more either of them could do about it today. There were going to be some serious consequences indeed. Maya was sitting hunched over in a corner of the police station, trying to disappear into the drab olive coloured wall. She looked bewildered, embarassed and hurt all at the same time. He wondered if she even understood what was happening around her.The sun was going down and no relief seemed visible on the horizon. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to a long night. How had this come to pass? He still couldn't register half of what was going on.

It was over a year ago when he met her for the first time. Kirti had flown down to Delhi that weekend, their meeting arranged by some common family friends. Harsh and Maya had already been having conversations with Raghav, Kirti's father. Kirti and Ani had been happy to oblige them with a meeting. She had charmed him at first sight. Bubbly, energetic, funny and intelligent, she seemed the perfect girl to come home to. Secure in her own skin, she was one of the most confident and beautiful people he had ever met. Kirti had grown up without her mother for most of her life and was deeply attached to her father and brother. Ani was completely bowled over by her at that first meeting.

I remember Ani raving about Kirti when he came back that night. "What do you think then?" Maya Aunty asked him. "She's perfect," he said dreamily. Maya Aunty smiled to herself. She had succeeded in her mission, to find a bride her son was completely smitten with. That night as we watched the stars lying on the moonlit terrace, all he could talk about was Kirti. Ani was at her beck and call since then, I thought showed Kirti's maturity and understanding that she did not manipulate him to suit herself. 

What followed were months of angsty phone calls, tearful flights to Mumbai and a whirlwind romance- all on Ani's part. They planned the wedding together, Ani giving precedence to her finer taste. They shopped together and organised everything together. One evening when I bounced into their house, I found Maya Aunty sitting at the dimly lit dining table flipping through bridal magazines absently. "Aunty, is something wrong? Is there anything you want to discuss with Ani and Kirti about the wedding?" "Of course not, Kiran, I was just picking out my outfits from these. Anyway, Kirti's wedding should be her own special day, I was just wishing I could have planned mine. " No matter, Aunty. You can plan mine. I am sure Mom and Dad will be more than happy to have your expert advice. I am warning you though, it'll be a long time coming."

Maya stood by Harsh at the entrance to the wedding hall. They were welcoming guests at Ani's wedding and she still couldn't believe it. Her little pudding of a child all grown up and getting married. It didn't help with the disbelief that to her it hardly looked like a wedding. Kirti's minimalist, clean cut style with muted tones and hues was so very different from her own jolly view of variegated reds and pinks. This was definitely not a Big Fat over-the-top Indian Wedding. But as Harsh reminded her, all that mattered was the smile on Ani's face.

Maya worried over what happened next. Kirti chose to stay based out of Mumbai in her consulting job, waiting for a suitable opportunity to come up in Delhi. Ani still lived at home. She had thought he might want to move to Mumbai himself. However, his new job and Kirti wanting to try and find a job in Delhi herself had kept him at home. He visited Kirti on the weekends. She was quick to defend Kirti whenever the women in the neighborhood tried to needle her into gossiping. "The poor child, she travels through the week and I can understand that she would like to stay at home. They need some time by themselves. I don't blame her for that." Ani was a great comfort to his mom when Harsh was away on his long business trips.

Ani had been Aunty's pillar when they received the news that changed their world forever. I remember that day like it was yesterday. Harsh uncle had met with an accident on the way home from the airport. We were all shell shocked, that we would never see his smile, his ringing laugh welcoming you to his house. We all grieved, months flew by like a daze. Then one day, we woke up and moved on. Except that Maya Aunty couldn't. Ani often saw her wandering about through the house aimlessly. She served him meals at haphazard times. I found her sleeping whenever I came to visit and lost items in the house turned up at unexpected locations.

I volunteered to take her to the hospital. Ani was having a tough few weeks at work. In the end, I wished I hadn't. The prognosis wasn't something I wanted him to hear from me- early onset Alzheimers. Maya Aunty spent the day in bed, staring at the ceiling, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Sacrifices had to be made. Ani couldn't make them, so Kirti had to. 6 months into the marriage, Kirti found herself in Maya Aunty's house. I am not sure that it made her very happy.

Every evening these past few months when I returned from work, I would find her at my door, waiting for me. Now I found that a bit weird, Kirti didn't always like my company, probably because I was Ani's best friend. It wasn't jealousy or anything, just awkwardness from all our shared memories. That was the only time she could get away, aunty was usually sleeping at that time. I knew what Kirti missed, she had lived only with roommates her age or alone and living in Maya Aunty's house wasn't exactly the future she had envisioned.

Kirti sat slumped against the wall after they had left. She did not have the energy to cry. All she could remember was the look on Maya's face when she was escorted out of the house. 6 months ago, when she moved in, she did not ever anticipate that this could happen. When they first started living together, she and Ani had begun to discover things about each other that they did not like very much. She hated how he threw himself into his work, leaving her to pick up the pieces.  He hated her temper and how she held on to a grudge. Ani had known how much she resented putting her career on the backburner. Just on the cusp of a promotion and transfer to Delhi.

In the beginning, it wasn't very hard. Maya was still in possession of most of her faculties and could take care of herself. Kirti saw the glimpses of her beautiful charming mother-in-law peeking through the veils of the disorder and wished she had gotten to know her better. She worked out a routine and managed to find time to go over to Kiran's place and chat. She was glad to make a new friend in Delhi, no matter that she was her husband's bestie. Her dad managed to come over a couple of times, and though she met him outside the house for the sake of convenience she was glad to see them so often.

Then gradually, it got harder. Kirti often found Maya in tears, unable to remember how to perform a simple personal task. She pushed away her help and sat sobbing through the day in frustration. She made herself sick overeating . She woke up with no sense of her surroundings and often reacted with aggression at the people around her. This last month, Kirti had been exhausted, cleaning up after Maya, helping her with every tiny task. Sometimes, it felt like she had a newborn in the house. Lack of sleep fogged her brain and made her irritable and snappy, she could feel control and cognition eluding her grasp. She couldn't do this any longer.

Ani was wishing, he had listened to Kirti when she had tried to talk to him. Instead he had brushed her off thinking it would be another diatribe on her usual topic of quitting her job on his insistence. She had probably been trying to tell him that something was going to go wrong. He had been in the middle of a client meeting, when his secretary dashed in to inform him that there had been an accident at the house. He called Kirti only to hear a garbling at the other end. It took a neighbour and five minutes to discover that his mother had been arrested. He had driven like a mad man to the Marudnagar police station and then started calling Kiran desperately until he finally heard her reassuring voice at the other end.

Kirti called me when I was on the way to the police station. She wanted me to hear her side before I met Ani. She wanted me to help Ani understand. That afternoon, Kirti had gotten a call from Sanju, her brother. He was passing through Delhi on a school trip and wanted to see her. She was too tired and fuzz brained to imagine stepping out of the house. Sanju was looking forward to a home cooked meal after days away at NCC camp and she couldn't bear to disappoint him.

Then she said, it all happened so quickly. She was so tired from her sleepless nights that she had collapsed with a book on the bed. This instead of keeping her awake put her to sleep. Her nap was broken by a high pitched wailing followed by assorted screaming and whining. By the time, she cleared the sleep from her eyes and made her way to the living room, it was all done. She had fallen to the floor, hitting the wall on the way. Sanju stood at the door, a red slash across his white shirt. Some concerned neighbours stood clustered around him and just in front of her at the open door was Maya, a pair of scissors in her hand.

Ani was getting a headache wondering how he could have missed all the signs. Kirti's exhaustion and Maya's deterioration. Kirti hadn't heard the doorbell and Maya, who she imagined had also been sleeping, had answered the door, with a pair of scissors in her hand. None of them had had any idea of the delusions that were haunting her in those days. It had taken Sanju's accident and a trip to the police station to wake him up.

Being around Ani's family the next few weeks, the predominant emotion I could sense and feel was guilt. Ani was guilty for being so much at work that he had ignored his sick mother and neglected his tired wife. Kirti was guilty for not taking care of and losing a mother yet again. Her injured brother only added to the burden on her shoulders. I was guilty for not noticing anything from the perspective of the outsider. I was the only one who knew and understood or claimed to understand all of them and I never saw this coming. Maya Aunty was feeling guilty too, but she felt that way without even realizing what she had done.

That was how I found myself sitting across from Maya Aunty at Sunnyside Villas, an assisted living facility for the elderly. Kirti sat next to me with a basket of Maya Aunty's childhood favourites. I had her favourite Shakespeare play in her hand. Maya Aunty, turned to us and began , " Do you remember.. "

Of Letters and Novels

How long has it been since you wrote a letter or received one? Very long is what I think.  When I was young, I used to look forward to my grandfather's letters. They inevitably contained a cheat sheet for an upcoming essay or elocution contest. He also sent me pictures for my favourite academic activity, making the fattest prettiest geography record book. I know, I am such a nerd. I was also fascinated by Nehru's book, Letters from a father to a daughter. It goes through prehistory, the industrial revolution all the way until colonial India. That book makes you wish that somebody would write to you like that. This is not an essay in defense of handwritten letters, I like them as much as the next person, but I type faster than I write. All I am defending is a good long email. We all instant message, WhatsApp, we share information in small units and expect instant reactions. It is convenient and wonderful that we can share our lives with people we care about. But we tend tp lose sight of some special quirks that communication should have. 

A letter contains a lot of its writer, consciously or unconsciously. That' s the best part of a letter. It conveys a feeling, a tone, sometimes things that you never meant to convey at all. I have often had this argument that writing is a projection and not the truth of the author. It might be true. But sometimes reading between the lines tells you much of things left unwritten. I find it difficult to understand even this, because most of the time my writing sounds exactly like me- pedantic, opinionated and with more asides than topics of conversation. While I don't write rude emails, I often have been told that I sound angry. Lots of times I do mean it, rest of the time even when I am writing a forced polite reply, the anger seeps into what I am trying to say. See what I mean about conveying things the author doesn't mean.

I have always loved epistolatory novels. I think they make great serial stories and keep you waiting for the next installment. Some of my top favorites are Daddy Long Legs, Dear Enemy, Anne of Windy Willows. All of these are romances. Daddy Long Legs is a budding college girl romance. It's a one-sided communication. That's what is great about letters right now, they are sort of unconditional. You keep it open so the other person can decide how they want to respond. Dear Enemy is a beautiful documentation of escalating clashes of opinion, wills and theories culminating in a romance.  Anne writes to her fiance while she waits to get married. The book is tilled with newsy prosy letters you wish you could write. I recently re read one of mu other favorites, The Guernsey Potato Peel Pie and Literary Society. Filled with different voices and styles blending to form a single story, it could be a manual for letter writing.

For all my enthusiasm on writing letters, I become rather stilted when I write a letter. I write 3 word sentences. I am funny unless I try to be funny. If I try, it makes bad reading. So if I want to write a great epistolatory novel some day, I need oodles of practice writing letters.

Sundaes and Sunny Days

"Pistachio, please!" I still remember the first order I took when I worked at the Hampton Court Ice Cream Stand. It was a small voice that piped up from behind the counter. All I could see where a pair of round blue eyes and the beginning of a couple of orange pigtails. "Cone or cup?" I chanted sincerely from the manual I had been taken through. I looked around and didn't find the manager whose approval I was trying to get. Yes, I was a bit of a goody two shoes and in my defense, it was the first day at my first job. 

Well, how much do they cost?" went the shrill voice again. She was a bit of a curmudgeon for her age. "Ten cents extra for the cone." I replied, my voice displaying a slight irritation. Here I was trying to get my first order right and she had already spent 10 minutes studying all the colors and flavors. Now she seemed stumped by the cone/cup question. It did not seem like the debate in her head would end in a hurry. I took a deep breath of the cold air wafting from the freezer. It calmed me down as I waited for Rose's order. 

My friends would kill for this job and told me I was lucky to get it. I didn't have to trudge up muddy sidewalks in the rain delivering newspapers or break my back bending over the lawnmower. I made more money as well for every hour I worked. They came by quite often to enjoy an ice cream on my account and pass the sunny afternoon in the cool air of the ice cream parlor.

Hampton Court Ice Cream Stand had ice cream stand in its name. To call it an ice cream stand was an understatement. It was a monument to ice cream. People came in to have ice cream but also walk through a mini ice cream museum. We still had the old time ice cream churners. We didn't use them anymore, but a lot of people came in to look at them.

The only drawback of the job was that I had to be up at six and at work within the half hour.  Scrubbing the wooden floors, polishing the ice cream churners till they shone, putting up the specials were chores that we all shared. We all stood for 5 high school kids. 3 of them went to the public school in the area. I had been moved to the gifted program and had to go to another school ten miles away which supported it. The last one, Jim, was going to my school this fall. He was a transfer student to my school this year.  I had never seen him in the area before. He kept pretty much to himself as did I and all the efforts of the Roosevelt high threesome to draw us out of our respective shells went in vain.

Jim and I inevitably volunteered to clear up so the other 3 could get out early and get on with their social lives. We had to clear things up and get organized for the next shift. Nina, Beulah and Rick liked working the first shift so they could get work out of the way and enjoy their evenings. I didn't do much in the evenings, just lay on a deck chair by the pool with a book and my Ipod. My mother worried, but I lounged despite that My old friends were too far away now that we had moved. I didn't drive. So I was stuck looking for friends in the new locality. They were not easy to come by. My mom wished I made more of an effort. "For heaven's sake, you don't even talk to Jim," she stormed at me.

It was not that I did not like Jim. I liked him. Quite a lot, the little I heard him speak was good enough to make an assessment. He would be really easy to hang out with. It was a given that he wouldn't have too many friends here because he was the new guy too. My parents saw him every day when they dropped me off to work. He drove up in his beat up truck. He was quiet and respectful when spoken to. They were wishing that I would make friends with him before the school year and they would be relieved from their chauffeuring duties.

I was to see little Rose quite often that summer. She was a constant visitor to our ice cream parlor, dropping in after her Girl Scout meetings. She liked to take her time, savoring the selection of ice cream more than the actual consuming of it. She inevitably chose me, not endearing me in the eyes of the manager who swore by quick and perfect service. I'd rather she didn't choose me, but she always made a beeline towards my counter whenever she came in. Personally, I found her a bit annoying. She was too curious, always asking questions about everything. She needed to know everything, all the time. She always put me in mind of that old proverb,"Curiosity killed the cat."

That was another thing in favor of Jim. He always had a ready smile for every customer, even Rose. He was the best person you could have waiting on you. He was patient, friendly and always helpful. Which made it even funnier that Rose always picked me over him. I even asked her once, when my manager wasn't looking of course. "He has a funny smile. I don't like it! It seems off!" she responded. The cheek of that child didn't have any limits.

I had started taking the bus to work by now. But that morning, my father stopped me as I was heading out the door. " Don't leave work before I come to get you. Stay inside the shop if it is after dark OK? " Seeing my puzzled expression, he continued, "There have been some incidents lately and I don't want you walking home alone." I nodded, still not completely convinced and continued on my way to my job. My day was full and not conducive to any further brooding on the topic.

We were closing early, so we didn't have too many customers coming in the later part of the afternoon. The roads were empty of pedestrians. There were a few cars on the road. " The city of Nortonville is on high alert today." The television blared from its perch at the corner of the shop. "There have been three abductions, all of teenage girls in the area. All citizens are requested to report any suspicious behavior." I headed out, taking out the garbage. My haunches were up even though I wasn't really taking the warnings echoing around in my brain to heart. Jim was still in the shop cleaning up.

"Hey! Nina! I was just going to come and check on you!" Rose shrieked from behind me. My heart almost leapt into my throat. "Why are you hanging around the dumpsters, Rose? Or should I be scared to ask?" I said, my words coming out more cutting than I intended them to be.  Her face fell, " I was just worried about you. I didn't like the idea of you working alone with Jim today. So I came along. You know I followed Jim yesterday. Do you know what I found out?"

"No, I don't know and I don't want to know."I stalked back towards the shop. "I suggest you get back home too." "That's what I came to speak to you about. I know you are closing now. My brother and I can give you a ride back home." My foot steps slowed. I turned over the suggestion in my head. I wasn't particularly looking forward to spending the rest of the day, until my dad came to get me, with Jim. There was something about him that made me very uncomfortable. I wasn't intent on exploring my feelings this day. "Hmmmm....." I dragged out my response as I trudged back into the store. She followed close on my heels.

It was too quiet. Jim was whistling when I left. I walked towards the walk in freezer at the back of the shop. The lights were off. That was unusual. The dark dank atmosphere closed around me as I swung the door open. "No! You promised! She was going to come along. Don't!" Rose's voice shrieked. That was the last thing I heard before blackness swirled before my eyes. The last thing I saw as I hit the ground was Jim's startled eyes as he lay bleeding on the floor.

Training Wheels

He let go. She fell."Ouch!"she cried. "Sorry", he said. 'It's my fault.' ' Don't blame yourself.' ' I can't ride.' ' Are you hurt?' ' Only my pride.' 'Let's try again.' 'Not today.' ' You tired?' ' Just had enough!' ' Don't give up.' 'I want to.' 'One more time.' ' I'll magically transform?' 'It could happen.' ' Stranger things have!' she said frowning. ' Never said that.' 'Didn't have to.' ' Topic change please.' ' You were saying?' 'Was I? When?' ' Yesterday night, remember?' ' Oh, that.' ' So, not important?' 'Important, not urgent.' ' Spill it!' 'Not now, later.' 'Why not?' ' Need more time.' ' Or a phone?' ' Possibly, a phone.' 'Can't take it.' ' Can't say it.' ' Course, you can.' 'Not to you.' 'Is someone talking?' ' About what?' ' Someone is talking.' 'Yes, guess what?' ' About us?' ' Sort of.' 'Are you embarrassed?' She frowned disbelievingly. ' I am here.' He frowned back. ' Trust issues much?' 'Maybe, I don't.' ' I would lie?' ' No, just asking.'

'Never just ask.' ' So you won't.' ' Right, won't go.' 'Because of me?' ' You'd think that?' ' Because of everyone?' ' Is that worse?' ' I think so.' She said determinedly. 'Decide right now.' ' I should choose?' 'Yes, you should.' 'How can I?' ' Up to you!' ' I don't know.' 'Or don't want?' 'Could be both.' 'Not sure?' 'No one is.' ' Thought you were.' 'Not a savant.' ' That's a seer.' 'Whatever, don't care.' ' Tell me why?' ' Never ask again?' 'Try not to.' 'Promise me.' 'Okay, I promise.' ' Privacy, I guess.' ' You guess.' ' Don't know really.' ' Guessing isn't enough.' ' Deal with it.' 'Sharing is wrong?' ' Just personal opinion.' ' It's messed up!' ' Stop arguing!' ' Don't make excuses.' ' I am not.' ' It's my imagination?' ' Sometimes it's overactive.' ' It's always me.' ' That's not true.' 'This time, you?' 'You got me!'

'I don't.' ' Why the need?' ' Want to understand.' ' Better a mystery.' ' A bad one.' ' Let's do it.' ' Announce it?' 'How much longer?' 'Need convincing.' ' Announcement? Something Else?' ' What else?' ' Any regrets?' ' None now, never.' 'Just need space?' ' To be sure.' ' If everyone knows?' ' Will they?' ' I won't tell.' ' It's over.' ' How pessimistic.' ' Never peaceful again.' 'It won't end.' ' What's the point?' ' Telling the truth.' ' To everyone else? ' He sighed dejectedly. ' I am happy.' ' I am too!' ' Why the worry?' ' I am skeptical.' ' Okay, not worried.' ' Hate gossip.' ' Thinking ruins everything.' ' I should stop?' 'Just relax!' ' I am trying.' ' Try harder.' ' I don't agree.' ' It's perfect timing.' 'I disagree.' 'Please do.'

'Worth it?' ' You gotta ask?' 'It's to me.' ' Only you matter.'' I know.' ' So you'll go?' ' Prom sucks!' ' Less with me.' ' You aren't scared?' ' Of what?' ' Wrong ideas?'  ' Should I be?' ' Something like that.' ' Do you care?' He said, 'No!'. ' I don't either.' ' Let's go!' ' Great, finally!' ' Get back on!' ' Ordering me huh?' ' That's impossible.' ' Hold on tight.' 'Trust me.' ' That scares me.' 'Need to start.' They both smiled.

Why baking is like analytics

I have been doing analytics consulting for all of my professional life and I have been baking only in the past year, that too only on weekends. I love baking as long as my results are sweet and I like my job on most of the good days. The similarities between these activities goes much further to me when I think about it. So here's one of those ridiculous lists which lists out why:

1. Baking is neither an art nor a science. Same goes for analytics. They deceive you into thinking it's a science and numbers game. But you need a feel, otherwise known as common sense for both. For example, you cannot add 100g of flour that the recipe calls for and say but it s not supposed to be this liquid. Just like you can't say you don't know why your numbers fell off a cliff.

2. There are some things you only learn by doing. These are two of them. There are siren like recipes which seem so super easy for a complicated sounding cake or biscuit. Theoretically, we are all on the same page and then your oven steadfastly refuses to yield results. While you may give an awesome theoretical spiel on a math model, you might see them all come tumbling down when you actually get to work.

3. Half baked results can always get you in trouble, though you may try to spin it otherwise. It is not easy to eat a half baked cake. You will choke just like you would when you eat one, if you try to deliver half baked results.

4. You need to follow instructions, step by step. Missing an instruction or mixing up order of events can prove to be costly mistakes. Procedure and quality checking at each step is important.

5. All measurements need to be accurate. Guessing and approximation isn't always the best idea.

6. Practice! Practice! Practice. The longer you do it, the more number of hours you put in practicing initially, the better you get at it. Soon you are almost perfect and hardly make any mistakes at all.

7. It's easier to explain to others how to execute something- whether a cake or an analysis, It becomes difficult only when you have to do it yourself and then you might have to ask the person you explained it to for help

8. An extra pair of hands is always a good thing. Delegation helps you get to timely and accurate  (read tasty) results.

9. Stirring the pot too much isn't always a good idea, Like an over-beaten cake, over analysis only falls flat on its face.

10. Appearance is more important than you think. The shape and embellishments of the cake make the first impression before it is even tasted. Your content and analysis may very likely go for a toss if you are not a pro at formatting and 'prettification'.

Philadelphia in Food

I spent the best part of this summer in Philadelphia, working. Like all my travels and most of my posts, this is all about the food I experienced in this very friendly city.

Lunches at Potbelly and Corner Bakery.. Enjoying a hurried mushroom melt and trying to eat crunchy chips quietly in a client meeting. Actually finding choices, vegetarian dishes I like in the office cafeteria..

Madelines with my friend.. Midnight snack and accompaniment to long overdue catch ups..Roti Canai at Banana Leaf with a foodie co worker.. Conversation was better than the food.. Missing home and succumbing to Philadelphia Chutney Company.. Living to regret the moment of weakness. 

Enjoying my share of farmers markets on Rittenhouse Square.. Knowing basil lemonade Popsicle could taste so good and getting complimented on my 'spring' shirt. Tasting veggie hot dogs as you listen to weird music at the Old st market.. Discovering you happened up on to the Old st market by mistake.. Trekking on purpose to the Ben Franklin parkway for the Fair on Parkway and getting disappointed with the 2 food trucks.

Experimental tasting with tasty kake and orange fair trade chocolate... Loving the icecreams at Franklin Fountain. Veggie burgers at Devil's Alley and Hip City Veg. Vegan cupcakes and OJ at Animo.. Falling in love with wok stir fries at Honeygrow on my first day and coming back many times.. Finishing up with a Smore melt in the mouth cookie from Insomnia Cookies..

Stumbling on to a perfect Italian place BYOB like most in Philly that I can't remember the name of because I went around looking at so many menus before I walked into one. Discovering super relaxed fine dining down the road from your house.. Having a Parisian breakfast at Parc Rittenhouse looking at the park, feeling Parisian with all the dogs around. Trying to repeat the experience at Devon and failing miserably. 

Having one pastry of each kind with Mom at Metropolitan bakery. Trying mojito icecream at a weird gelataria on 20th street.. Buying my friend tiramisu from Miel. Marvelling and getting disgusted simultaneously over chocolate pasta at Max Brenner. Having had too much of a sweet thing, biting into red chillies at Han' s Dynasty. Finally trying and liking Indian food in the US at Indeblue. Realizing a childhood obsession with Dr. Seuss having French toast breakfast at Green Eggs and Ham

Summers of Art

Art and I have a love hate relationship - the love is all from my side and the hate all from the other. I have always loved to draw and paint since I was a child. I didn't so much like going to art contests unless it was the on the spot kind, where you could make up your own worlds from your imagination. I like drawing in detail. Where somebody might choose to draw a single dominating entity in a painting, I would rather draw a million tiny pictures complete with the latch on a house's front door. My technique however has always been flawed, despite or because of multiple art classes I have had.

When summer holidays came up, we always headed to my grandparents' house for a relaxing month or so. Since I was prone to be a couch potato, more often than not and did my holiday homework, we had plenty of that, at the absolute last minute, I was kicked out of the house for art classes to a nearby school. Best part of it was that it was right across the road and I could go there all by myself. What surprises me from the classes I remember and the assignments she gave me was how I didn't end up hating art. What does a seven year old understand of shadows and light? She had a class of much older years and I was the odd man out. Half of my book pages were filled with eraser smudges and clueless shading in lieu of appropriate shadows.

The story was repeated when I attempted to take after school art classes. I wanted to be in this boisterous gang of my classmates and friends who were in the lower art class, fooling around more often than drawing. Little did I know what I was getting into. I was put again in the advanced class. We had a super old curmudgeon of a teacher, she was an excellent artist to say the least, but a very bad teacher. We were a bunch of about 10 unfortunate students. It was difficult to sweat over a cheetah when you knew on the other side of the wall, people were drawing flower bouquets and stick men figures. Our topics were always unusual and challenging. But it gave me a lifelong trauma of joints and movement. I definitely did not learn in all the time I spent in that class about proportion. My paintings are still filled with disproportionate limbs. My characters move with the elegance of an actor in his first movie. 

I moved to the other class, but needless to say, I didn't learn anything. The most I learnt were in my school art classes and the one oil painting class that I took thankfully at an appropriate age, when I actually understood what the teacher was saying. Apart from these scheduled learning periods, a lot of my spare time in my summer holidays were spent in painting and drawing. I would stock up on paints and other material from the R.S. Shoppe on L.B. Road in Chennai and spend many pleasant afternoons over some glass painting or canvas. I also used my pictures to cheer up my hostel rooms. So reminiscing over all my old artwork,  I decided today was a great day to immortalize some of them on the world wide web.

A to Z - Akash

I am in yet another school- my 7th school in 8 years. I can't even make an effort anymore. I smile, I wave, I make inane conversation mechanically. All the schools look the same, grey or pale green institutional colors with bars in the windows. There are more people who have coalesced into a single identity than I can remember.

As the breeze from the window hit me, I thanked my stars for having bagged the prime window seat. All my years of moving have left me with one important lesson. 'Always be on time on the first day of school'. I was inevitably late every other day. The first day for me is a milestone. The day you pick your seats and proceed to scare away everyone from you for the rest of the year with the best imitation of the evil eye. I never failed to get the seat I wanted.

"Eeeh," a shriek interrupted my thoughts. A slightly built classmate of mine was busy shushing her statuesque friend. Her friend towered over her but quailed in the line of her fierce gaze. Turning slightly, she caught me observing their conversation and it deepened into an angry or embarrassed flush. I puzzled over which it was. Wait, the taller girl looked familiar. She was a danger Sam had warned me against. Sam was my campus buddy. My first normal campus buddy, actually. Therefore by default, he was the first person I met at Avon High. Providentially, he turned out to be awesome and in the same grade as me. To quote Sam, 'She is on the prowl. So take care.' That sounded ominous and he assured me it had nothing to do with any sort of relationship which confused me even further.

Still, I took his warning to heart. I needed to figure my life out before I even thought about anything else. A school each year was hard enough without any potential entanglements. I did not work well with high maintenance. "Zara! Zara! Stop!" Nina cried out. So her name was Zara. Interesting name! She didn't pay any attention and just continued walking. "Sam!" I tapped his shoulder. He had the other good window seat in front of me." I need a drink of water!" "The cooler's down the hallway. Head straight down and take a right". "Cool! Thanks! No, I 'll find it, not a problem!" I hurried in the direction of the water cooler.

The Week That Was!

Madras Market IV:

This is the 4th Madras Market that is happening in Chennai, but the first time I have been in the city and had a chance to go to it. It was not as large as the Bangalore Soul Santhe, but had some super interesting stalls that equaled if not went further than some of the shops I saw here.

A recap of the most unique and cool stalls at the Madras Market:

- Mural Aura: Hand-painted murals on the kerala mundus, dupattas, tables, trays and coasters. Beautifully painted kathakali dancers and gods in multi-colours surrounded you in this stall. The best buy according to me here was the buddy table, as side table topped with a pretty mural.

- Dharti: An eco-friendly jewellery store. Paper quill jewellery which looks so good it could be terracotta jewellery. Painted in bright neon colors which are in vogue now, they are sure to top off any outfit. There were choices of jhumkis in pink and blue, cone shaped earrings in orange and cream, cute little studs.

-  Angi: A new age T shirt store with an old world spin. Angi's USP is bringing back Tamil Culture with  a bang and conveying the message so it reached young people. So that's why the message on the T- shirt. From Bharatiyar to Periyar, Tirukkural to Skanda, this expanding T-shirt range with a reasonable price is something to look out for. They have free shipping all over India and a growing online presence.

Books I read:

Inspirational and Beautiful without being pedantic. Moving , funny, self depreciating stories which include you in their narrative, they don't unlock the secret to life, just give you encouragement to run behind your dreams while you still have time

Dystopia in post war England. Interesting peter pan and 1985 cross. None of the characters seem all there and you cannot relate to any of them. But they creep you out and leave you waiting for more.








 Chick lit to relieve the heavy first two books. About a girl new to the dating scene after a long time. Funny for most part with a typical happy ending, it was a good light read.

Watched this movie long after its release. Super funny, left me rolling on the floor with laughter. Tongue in cheek look at films, film making and gangstas! Absolutely loved the antics of the villain and his acting coach!

Lost and Found- Part 1

Meet Don, 30 years old. He's about 5 feet 6 inches tall, short compared to the rest of his clan. If you were kind, u would call him broad shouldered. If you weren't, you would approximate a rectangle.

He likes taking walks in the summer sun just as much as in the pleasant rains. So you would find him nicely bronzed off on a good day and badly sun burnt on others. The first thing everyone noticed about his hair was never the color. You just saw that there seemed to be too much of it on that little head of his. But for purposes of your imagination it was coffee grounds brown. If you met his eyes, which you inevitably did, because he always did talk that way, was a softer ice tea brown.

Before he starts sounding like one of those stock photos on the internet or a safe date on an internet dating website, let's see what Don was getting upto now. He was sitting on the edge of his seat on the 10:30 subway going downtown. "Ping!" went his phone. He scrolled through it absentmindedly.

"Not another of these reports!" he thought to himself," I should never have subscribed to this alert service." Though it wasn't really much of a choice anyway. His job as a hot shot financial expert demanded this at a minimum. He had never borne the brunt of a bubble bursting around him, but it would be good to be in the loop when it did. 

So, now that he was 30, in fact that very day was his birthday, Don was thinking very deeply about nothing in particular. Especially not what he was going to do next. He wasn't much of a philosopher, but he hadn't gotten away unscathed from the kind of situations he had been in. Introspection was dangerous, so he tried not to indulge.

He tried to look fascinated again as he caught sight of the skyline. Another day, another dollar!