Whopee

Again I Question

2012-01-29T11:01:00.000-08:00

Now there comes a point in every persons life

When they have to choose with out a strife.

A life where they maybe wanted or not.

Or where they’ve given or they’ve got

But when year after year you stand and see in absolute vain

That you’ve been passed over, avoided or rejected again

You’re heart might be hurting from the rejection of friendor family

But because its you, People expect you to grin and bear bravely

You might be chosen over fairer maidens laid in gold.

None care about your skills, talents or if you’re brave andbold.

The older people don't want you cause you’re too young.

The younger people accuse you of being dumb and unsung.

Who do i ask to give me a chance, to be liked to be loved tobe a friend.

Why must I allow people to drive my breaking heart to thisbitter end?

Is there an answer for me from a friend, family, untold loveor God?

Does his holiness bear no love upon a child, but a flamingrod?

Can i ask such a question does God love me?

Must i not be grateful that i can breathe so free?

That thankfully i got my arms, Limbs and individuality.

Therefore i’m supposed to believe that love is not for me?

Have i not received grace and blessings and much more?

Is it difficult to accept the bitter cup of whats in store?

But yes it is i believe, only human that i am, a woman that's me.

Were i not created with a heart, That would be broken withtragedy?

Juke Box

2011-11-22T21:20:00.001-08:00

(Dedicated to the memory of Handel Jim and to those who loved the old Juke Box)

Whenever there were people around.

There was this music playing its sound.

The rhythm and beat that swayed over all.

Always caught people unaware , in a trip and a fall.

Spirits high, melancholic or pensive it could be.

The juke box made its music and all could see.

Guitar strings and notes in perfect harmony.

Over every soul it wrapped itself magically.

No writer, voice or even tambourine.

Could capture the soul of this jukebox routine.

Never ceasing constantly fluid and twanging a rhythm on.

Stirring the soul deep within even after the music was gone.

It was time for the old jukebox to play one last magical song.

But, when he beautifully ended it nothing seemed more wrong.

But all of a sudden that old jukebox was all done.

Mid song he stopped, leaving his audience stunned.

And as every heart shuffled on knowing the last song they had missed.

The old juke box laughed knowing every last captured soul was his.

I got a rasberry with love

2010-01-13T19:58:00.000-08:00

Last week the theme at school was fruits. Also last week ..... I was at my sickest. I had a full blown head cold and my sinus was not making it any easier for me to breath.....Now there's a little guy in my school .....He's just 10 months old but i'm telling you that kid's gonna a be an awesome stand up comedien some day.So i've been keeping away from the kids cause, I reallly did not want to be passing my cold on to them.....Actually I caught the cold from them...my immunity against babies is still pretty weak considering ......I'm just a month old in my exposure to ......crawlers, boogerblowers, toddlers and bug-eaters. So my teachers were teaching them strawberries....When i stepped out of the room to observe the show and tell classes in session; and at that moment my nose completely clogged .....so..... I had the urge to blow hard into my handkerchief. So i did ...a nise big...trumpetty snort.....the kids burst out laughing....the teachers were shocked and were covering their embarrasment with errs and ahem's and tried to get their attention back to strawberries. When little Pranav....the 10 month old kid was asked what a strawberry was......he just pointed to me...stuck his tongue out and blew out the the biggest rasberry i ever heard....thrrrrrrrrup! At first we were all taken aback.....then we burst out laughing...this 10 month old baby actually poked fun at my snorting.....oh wow i nearly died laughing....after that, every time i blew my nose he'd blow me a rasberry...lol i guess he had more fun seeing me burst into laughter evertime he did that. Well that week while my kids learned about fruits....I got rasberried with love.

Beauty from Rags

2008-11-19T22:28:00.000-08:00

“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!”

Sandhya hopped around me dancing her tribal dance. Her curls twirled around her little hot face. I had to keep my fingers from pinching her chubby cheeks. Every time I plucked her dimpled cheeks she would complain in an adult tone. ‘Don’t do it Amma. I am 6 years old what would others think?”

Suddenly she froze and her eyes sparkled, ‘Amma you can help me with my art project.” I thanked her graciously and asked what she had in mind.

“Everybody has to make a gift and the bestest gift will be given to Mrs. Joyce Madhan on her birthday.”

I wondered what possible gift a 6year old could give the headmistress of a school?

“ANNIE, ANNIE!!!! I’LL MAKE ANNIE!” she repeated.

I never doubted my daughter’s lung power. I raised a questioning eyebrow but was silenced in my attempt to speak as my highly energized daughter dragged me into her room. And within minutes there I was sitting cross legged on the floor with my daughter snuggling into me as I caught her sweet baby smell. She tilted her head to a side as she eyed the heap of scraps and bits piled in front of us and in complete faith said, “Make Annie, Amma.”

I looked heavenward, sighed, rolled up my sleeves and got to work. We stuck and glued, stitched and tied, plaited and stuffed. Little pudgy fingers got in the way. An hour later I was startled by a gentle snore. I smiled and gently woke my sleeping angel.

“Annie is ready.” I whispered.

Sandhya was up like lightning as she stared at the crudely shaped figure sitting before us. Her big eyes widened like saucers until I feared that they might pop out.
She oohed and aahed over her Annie.
Annie the rag doll that she created.
She beamed with pride and puffed up her chest as she introduced me to Annie.
Polite ‘How do you do’s?’ were exchanged.

All was fine or so I thought until the next day my baby walked in crushed and in tears. It tore my heart to see my little one so sad. She ran into my arms as I hugged her sobbing body. Her hot tears and breath ran down my neck as she wailed on and I helplessly held on willing my heart not to break into pieces.
“Th..they made….f…fun….ammmaaaaaa” she howled.
They ….sniff…c…call…ed….hic…her …st…stupid.” She sobbed on.

My anger mounted as murderous thoughts flashed in my mind. How dare they do this to my baby. And what was the teacher doing when my baby was teased. Wait till I give that woman a piece of my mind. She seems in capable of teaching children to appreciate their peers…..My vision blurred as my temper rose and my mind kept raging. Suddenly soft pudgy hands held my face, tears streaming down her brave little face. “ I don’t care Amma. I will always love Annie. She is mine and she is beautiful.

I eyed the little rag piece. I smiled; it was quiet shaggy but Annie definitely had a charm. I carried my little one saying, ‘Let’s show daddy. He’ll love Annie?’

‘Really?’ asked my little on uncertainly as she dried her eyes with the back of her palms.

‘Most definitely!’ and I carried my angel to her father for some comfort and much needed cuddling.

Bastards

2008-11-19T22:07:00.000-08:00

Wafts of pungent air seemed to drift in and out of her senses, she could hear a buzz of voices, but they were distant. She lapsed into darkness again. She felt gentle hands lift her.

She hazily remembered a voice so strong that called out to her, “Seema, Seema, can you hear me? Seema open your eyes child.” She grunted a tearing pain. Nausea hit her and she retched. Her mind was reeling. What happened? Confused and tears running down her cheeks. She recalled in flashes. To her horror her memory was in tact. A heart wrenching cry tore from her lips. Shock. She started getting hysterical. The doctor gave her a sedative.

Seema woke to the sounds of gentle sobbing. She opened her eyes and saw her mother weeping over her. Seema attempted to smile, but it froze and died on her lips. The police walked in wanting to take a report. That was the last time anyone could remember her smiling.

Raped! She was gang raped. She was returning home from college through her regular route. It was dark. That spot always made her nervous. But she had to walk through the dark. She needed to get home, when a group of men pounced on her and tore at her body. That was all she could remember.

In a dull haze, numb to everything that went around her. She lived her life. At the medical check ups, she was pregnant. How did that happen? She sighed anything was possible. At the police station they caught the hoodlums. At the court the criminals were convicted. At home she left her family to hide her shame. At her new job curious eyes wandered to her swelling belly. A young girl, with no mangalsutra and no signs of a husband whatsoever, but very pregnant.

Then one day Seema was back at the hospital. A boy, she was blessed with a son. She named him Pavithre which ironically means pure and unadulterated. Her bastard son.

She watched as the baby slept on. An overwhelming wave of pain, sadness and love washed over her. She sighed and wondered why an innocent babe should be called a bastard for the random wicked deeds of men? Her anger mounted as images of their wicked deed flashed at lightning speed. Her jaw tightened ….Suddenly she felt a tug as she watched her baby gurgle and chuckle over a matter of great importance. And then Seema smiled. She knew everything would be alright. Because Pavithre her son had made her smile.

How to Murder Hope?

2008-11-19T21:54:00.000-08:00

Justice was not served.
But they wish for death. At least one of them does.
To wake up in cold sweat in the middle of the night every single day as they remember that horrible day.
Her sobs, the blood and the screeching tires.
I’m sorry but the memories don’t leave.
I’m sorry I stood and witnessed the injustice.
I’m sorry that I drove you to your death.
I’m sorry for burning all your dreams and aspirations.

Oh Happy Day! Gracy nearly yelled at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t believe it. This was the best day of her life. She had finally made it into an engineering college. Purely on merit and nothing else.

She had come a long way, studying under the neon lights during her exam days. Her father and mother were poor labourers who had worked hard to bring their daughter up. It hadn’t been easy. Mohan had to work two to three jobs as a labourer to see his daughter through school. His dear wife Rita worked morning to night as a maid in five different homes. Come sickness or pain, Hail or storm she worked ceaselessly. She was a strong headed woman and had decided that her daughter would become a doctor.

Only now for some reason father and daughter stubbornly decided that Gracy would become an engineer. Rita smiled secretly She knew Gracy’s father couldn’t resist the urge to brag to his friends at the construction site that his daughter was to become an engineer, just like their engineer Saab, who paid them their Roj Gar (daily wages).

Gracy ducked her head and blushed when her father’s friends teased her and called her ‘Memsab’. Her Kohl drawn eyes widened in wonder and awe as she listened from the other side of the mud wall of their tiny house; as the men gathered together over chaai in the evening and discussed with her father on the income earned by the educated people of today.

The women folk sang Rita’s praise, ‘Oh what a blessed daughter!’, ‘The girl will be a blessing in your old age’, ‘long gone are the days when only sons could bring u pride.’, ‘She will definitely with the blessings of the good gods find a worthy husband.’

Gracy thought she would die in embarrassment when the women plucked her cheek and constantly applied kohl on her cheeks to keep the evil eye at bay. But she admired these men and women who had not given up on life in spite of poverty striking its venom into them. Many a time she had seen loved ones and friends succumb to illness and diseases because of the lack of money to treat it.
But trials and losses did not break these people. It only build them into stronger willed and hard working people.

The days flew by and soon it was time for Gracy to attend her first day at college. She could barely conceal her excitement. Her fidgeting fingers gathering her new books. She was dressed in a crisp cotton white Salwar and a lovely Dhuppata that was ruby red. Before she left to catch her bus she sent up a word of prayer asking the Gods for their blessings. Her parents beamed with pride as their daughter waved them goodbye. All the neighbors came out of their thatched homes to see the first child from their slum to attend college. All of them offered up a silent prayer for this young girl who was a symbol of hope to their future.

This was over a year ago. Today Gracy’s ashes are scattered, caught and tossed in the wind, over streams or perhaps even in the soil. Her mother’s ashes blows somewhere over unknown terrains too; having died from a broken heart. Her father locked away at an asylum. A man with shattered dreams and hopes ranting about his daughter’s achievement and is looking out for a suitable groom for his daughter.

Gracy was a victim of a non accepting community. When her poverty was discovered she was mocked and taunted constantly. Unable to bear the shame any longer she tried to run across the road from fellow students who plagued her even at the bus stop. In her attempt to flee the humiliation and fun poked at her she did not see the oncoming bus that ran over her.

Her taunters watched in horror as they watched Gracy’s body crushed underneath. Life ceased. The white cotton Salwar that she wore so often soaked up her blood; matching the ruby red color of her Dhuppata.

They ought to be hung. Justice should be served.
But influential parents. Political connections.
Expensive lawyers and exchange of gifts and promises of well earned benefits.

Ensured that Justice was denied.

Gracy’s ashes still flit around somewhere along with her mother’s over unknown terrain, and untold stories.
I end this story hoping never to dream no more.

What I wished for

2008-09-16T02:42:00.000-07:00

I finally turned 29 and started on my 30th year…Once upon a time, a long time ago…..when I was 21 I was dying to get older.

I imagined great looks, great clothes, fancy car, great job, Men falling all over themselves at my doorstep, wooing me with flowers, chocolates and song.
Sigh I watched and read one too many romantic movie and book. …how wrong I was.

Great looks hah……You look great at 21 after that it’s just down hill. Well I’ve learnt the art of hiding my wrinkles and grey hair…and sagging skin…transparent glue helps hold it up… trust me it works.

Great clothes…..hah only in books darling…..otherwise it leaves a dent in your savings….its sad. So my advice dress simple…accessorize great….but please invest in great shoes….oh they are the soles of your attire. And besides great shoes speak volumes and add attitude.

Fancy car…..I’m still begging my dad to fund me one…..sheesh he insists I work and earn one….oh the sad life of the working class.

Great job…well I can’t complain….after 7 yrs ….I finally realized what I want to do in Jan 2008. I guess better late than never.

As for men hounding at my doorstep….Lol lets say the people visiting my doorstep have been my maid, the grocery man, and the frequent lost visitors of my neighbors. So my assumption is all these men I dreamt about when I was younger are actually existent in fairy tales and books and movies….sigh.

I'm Done

2008-07-25T02:25:00.000-07:00

God I’m so done.
I’m done with being wooed, pursued and then being dropped like a hot potato.
I’m done and tired of being compared and chosen over younger women with smaller waistlines, firmer breasts and tighter butts (well also better looking faces).
I’m done with being teased into believing that there is a future and then there is a sudden change of mind and will in the opposite and I suddenly find myself left clueless on what just happened.(while I see you walk away hand in hand with your new found love)
I’m done and am sick and tired of selfish, self centered, male chauvinistic pigs.
I’m through with indecisive fools who don’t know whether they want in or out.
I’m tired of hoping for a better possibility or there being a future at all.
I’m sick of girlfriends who seem to be honing in on your man constantly and walking in on them in compromising positions.
I’m sick and tired of people constantly saying ‘You are 29???What’s wrong with you? Why are you single? (How the heck….am I supposed to know?)
I’m tired of explaining to people I’ve not found someone I like.
I’m done with men who don’t have balls…..in my opinion if you don’t have it then don’t even bother.
I’m done with being dumped, stood up and hurt all the time.
I’m so tired, so mad, so furious and so done with you that I want to scream without ceasing at the top of my lungs.
And to all of you who are reading this, especially all the men from my past because I know you are…..well you can stuff it.
And to all well wishers, friends, family and critics who want to comment…..stuff it.
Because, I really don’t care about what you think.
I’m writing this because I’m fuming and I want to state my mind and don’t you dare cross my line.

False Celebrity Status

2008-07-17T00:35:00.000-07:00

Well...its nothing much...but its something for me.....I feel happy that maybe, I've achieved something.....not the Pulitzer or the Nobel prize or a lifetime achievement award......but something that would make my folks smile in pride.....I just realized that all of us at different stages of our lives are always trying to prove ourselves..... To be accepted, to be appreciated and above all trying to achieve some sense of self worth.
This time, I’m happy..... I did not do something, because somebody asked me to or because I was blackmailed into it. I did something where I made a choice on my own, and am reaping good fruits from it. I'm so happy I decided to pat myself on the shoulder, flash a grin into the mirror and say.....Hey Celebrity, you are doing just fine.

IF

2008-06-16T02:00:00.000-07:00

If, can change lives for people.
If things were better rather than worse
we'd have lesser divorves.
If health were easier got than illness,
we'd have lesser deaths.
If food were in abundance,
we'd have lesser starvation.
If money grew on trees,
we'd have lesser poverty.
If there were more love on Earth,
we'd have lesser hate.
If there were more good,
We'd have lesser evil.
If there were more of you,
We'd have less of me.

Do I Dare Dream

2008-06-12T01:56:00.000-07:00

(I wrote this in a fit of rage when Dad pissed me off about marriage)

Dare I write something to scandalize.
If I did ….it would be none too wise.
The Americans and British lost their weaker gender.
You’d be sued to millions if you refer to them sexes as tender.
Aha! Feminism. A power word in the west.
Of late the women from the East join the quest.

I wonder could I talk so free?
A feminist, would that be me?

But no I don’t want to be. Not me. No way.
Feminism, a tangle, a maze, a web today.
There was once a time when the battle for us women was a sheer necessity
When ignorance, illiteracy and stubbornness had to be battled with ferocity.
Sweep n mop, make n bake, kiss n sex, baby n child, and fix n stitch.
But to read n think, discover n travel, Ah, then she becomes a Jezebel, a witch.
This body ….is not for sex alone. Nor just for making child.
This body ….respect it, honor it, cherish it a matter no longer mild.

Centuries and decades she fought hard and long.
Torn and bleeding she still sings the old song.
Finally she stands. Young and brave, her youth marred with wise old eyes.
She stands tall refusing to stoop over, she the conqueror now so wise.
And now again…. I stand….. No my friend not a rebel …..Not I.
Just a dreamer, I dare to dream and the sun shines brighter in my sky.

The aggravating, annoying, infuriating quality of this Man.

2008-06-11T04:26:00.000-07:00

I am so furious I could possible beat this person up. God he infuriates me with his Country attitudes, rude obnoxious and freakin' condescending nature.

What in the blooming blazes does the nincompoop think about himself?
That just because he’s got male genital organs, he is more of a man.
Ha ha ha …how far from the truth.
I’ve not met a man who is more inadequate and more insecure about his job than he is.
Ever since I stepped in to my work I’ve had one obstacle after the other particularly with this ...this...this...this....Male thing ......that I just refuse to address by name.
Simply because he does not deserve it. I’d rather call him .........his royal slimyness.

Can you believe it he has a problem only, with me. ......Why?
Because I speak better English than he does?
Or because I complete my sentences without stammering and spluttering all over the place?
Or because I don’t have to be Einstein to figure out human sensitivity?
So I figure people out better and they like me better?
Well guess what dirt eater( changed his name again) you either have it or you don’t.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Screaming at the top of my lungs really felt Good?
Breathe in
breathe out.....breathe in ....breath out....

Stillness

Calm

So ................here’s what I’ve to tell you, you worthless man.
All your juvenile attempts at upsetting me or throwing me off my course ....is in vain.

Cause at the end of the day I know...... I’m a hundred times better than you are and thats what gets you plotting and planning to aggravate me.

So I know the day we are at peace I must have fallen to your level of slime.
So until then keep up your good job of annoying me because then I know I’m doing it right.

Signing off the best darn thing that happened to mankind
Sapna

The Dancing Cook

2008-04-16T23:14:00.000-07:00

Ada the grey haired little cook marched into her kitchen. She slammed the door behind her to keep out the screaming icy wind. At once she felt the warmth seep into her bones. The fire kept warm the large cauldron of her magical broth. Her eyes shone and her cheeks dimpled when the kettle welcomed her with a soft whistle.
She hustled over to the other room grabbing a cool pan from the army of pots and pans that served her. They caught flashes of light on their shiny bodies.
The moment she placed the pan over the fire she started a secret dance chuckling as she remembered the stories of yester years. She threw an assortment of spices into the pan. The flame leapt high and caste a shadowy dance on the ceiling as the curry bubbled and burst in the pan. She dabbed in a ladle into her spicy mix. The aroma wafted around her little nose. She sniffed and then dipped the spoon into her mouth and savored the hot salty taste. Then as suddenly as she had started her dance, there was stillness.

Why I Couldn't Blog

2008-01-03T21:36:00.000-08:00

The fag end of my life of 2007 was a marathon run.... it was tragedy after tragedy followed by calamities. But the last 2 weeks of December and the start of January saw a change in my never ending flow of bad luck. Suddenly Good things started to happen. I know something great is in store for me this year.

Anyways what i really wanna say is I'm back.

So be prepared Mon Amies as da Queen takes center stage yet again.

Ma Vie

2007-06-10T22:10:00.000-07:00

Mon ami, Bungi, a inspiré moi pour écrire dans une autre langue.

La vie est étrange. Quelquefois agréable, quelquefois triste.

Vous aimez quelqu'un. vous devriez être heureux encore que vous êtes si tristes.

Les gens vous demandent, pourquoi vous faites des choses étranges? Évader. Soyez heureux.

Comment étrange quand vous êtes tristes vous souriez toujours et simulez que tout est bien avec le monde.

Est cette vie ? Pourquoi menons-nous de telles vies artificielles ?

Y a-il n'importe quel point alors si votre vie est un grand mensonge..... Quelle est la vérité dans cela ?

Pourquoi écris-je dans une langue qu'aucun homme ne peut comprendre ?

Simplement parce que je suis désespéré pour enlever ce masque et encore j'ai peur d'exposer.

Mon Dieu aidez-moi s'il vous plaît..... Je mens et dis que tout est sur de bons termes avec le monde et ma vie quand ce n'est pas.

Mais tout ce que je peux dire est..... C'est la vie!

Hey alien, watch it!

2007-06-07T01:53:00.000-07:00

Do you know what the synonym for ‘Alien’ is in the thesaurus?

It is: foreigner, greenhorn, guest, immigrant, intruder, invader, migrant, non-citizen, outsider, stranger, and visitor.

Now if you were a visitor in a foreign country, would you not give the local people or the natives the respect they deserve? Would you not say please and thank you; as they, showered their hospitalities on you?

Last night the girls and I went to see The Pirates of the Caribbean …..Ooh la oh la….Johnny Depp is gonna be my next topic.

Anyways, while we were at the theatre, there was this bunch of foreign kids who sat two rows behind us. Firstly they come into the movie real late. Then they giggle, laugh and talk loudly as they balance their popcorns and coke’s and noisily find their seat oblivious to the glares and shushing hurled at them. Did I forget to mention that they were all girls and stereotyped into the Barbie category? Besides that, they seemed to exude a certain jarring garish trait, which comes from having too much cotton fluff between their ears; rather than the normal intellect that most of us are blessed with.

Well, as if their noisy banter towards the start of the movie was not enough, I was later told by one of my girlfriends that they were busy cussing and using foul language thinking they were being super cool. They seemed to be insensitive to the fact that there were families and children around them. Once I heard it my patience seemed to have sunk even lower.

Ok, so here we were, my girlfriends and I, we had a superb time at the movies and were strolling out of the theatre content with life in general. We were waiting patiently waiting for the crowd in front of us to disperse as we strolled laughing and in good humor to our respective vehicles in the parking lot. When out of nowhere, these same foreign girls barge into our way and try to shove my friend and me off their paths by repeatedly saying, “Move, move, move, move” in an obnoxiously accented tone.

What can I say…. wrong person, wrong move? Well I asked in my nastiest and meanest voice….. ‘Want to watch where you step B#t@h?” All four of them turned around and rolled their eyes in contempt at me….how dare they….in my turf…in my land ….how dare they?

So I let go with a verbal attack or two….come on seriously…. I don’t remember how many I let them have….but it was enough to get them running for cover.

That’s right you B with them Itches! Don’t you dare mess around with me in my country!!! Yep I’m a racist…in my own ways….. And I hate the attitude where superior white skin rules over darker anytime and anywhere.
Look it’s not like I hate white skins…..that’s so untrue….I’ve some real close friends who are westerners from U.K to Ireland to America to Korea to Germany to Italy to Canada to Australia to across the globe….and I love them to bits. But they love me and respect me.

Yes important point being Respect for the Human Race.

My wild attempt at becoming an RJ

2007-05-31T01:39:00.000-07:00

You know i actually sent this CV to Radio City a little while ago.

RadioCity: So if you believe you can make it BIG………
Me: I truly believe I can.
RadioCity: And you think you got what it takes………
Me: I think I do.
RadioCity: Then contact us ………
Me: So I am.

My name is Sapna Sera Abraham people call me Saps, Sappy, Sera or Girl (like I need someone to remind me of my gender......sheesh)

Well, I thought …is this a sign???? I was browsing the net and the radio city RJ thingy just jumped up on my screen (I’m kidding of course, I was literally doing a Google search)…so I thought to ma self…..Girl why don’t you try this thing….you always had the gift of the gab…

Like most other kids I had an education. I had parents nice enough to send me to an English medium school so I managed to finish my schooling at Union Christian Matriculation Higher Secondary School, Chennai. On passing out I thought I had conquered the world. Yes for me it was an achievement. Barely had I come out victorious out of this war when the army general and her lieutenant, (Mom and Dad in that order) decided that it was time to send me to torture camp. More Education.

So I was forced to do a degree in English literature. Why English in specific? Well that seemed to be the only language I spoke and being a drama queen my parents thought I would ace in Shakespearean Studies, Poetry and the likes. Little did they know there were other subjects such as History of English Literature, Linguistics, The origin of Grammar etc, etc.

I thought cruelty to children was banned. I should have a filed a case against my parents and the educational institute for the abuse and battering caused to such a delicate, beautiful mind such as mine. No I thought they will not destroy me I will survive. So I did. I passed out of English literature with average scores like an average kid from the Madras Christian College.

But the journey was lonely, dark and deep. I managed to break every rule in the book. So after rebelling with the authorities, fighting for my freedom by leading strikes and demonstrations (yeah I wish) I finally managed to scrape through without being suspended. But here I was a fresh graduate, older, wiser and at cross roads again. But this time without the slightest clue of what I wanted to do with my life.

My first job in a multinational company GE Hyderabad, I lasted a year and half which is a record time for me…..having an extremely active and creative mind any kind of monotony tends to drive me nuts. So I came back screaming to save my mind and besides I also missed the heat, the sweat and the auto drivers in good old chennai.

Once I got back to Chennai, my big mouth helped me get on stage. Oh yeah! It was theatre all the way. They don’t call me drama queen for nothing. And what’s more all the productions I ever got involved with were all musicals. Boy, you should have seen me singing a tune and shaking a leg……I loved the attention and the popularity it brought. But man cannot live by talent alone.

So here’s where I stepped into my second job, I got into advertising……my creative ability actually got me a job as a copy writer……see you can live on talent alone.

Then I decided to do something crazy. It was more a case of self abuse. Yep, I took the first step towards more mental torture. I sure tried to pursue my Master’s in English. After two years of O.D’ing. Please don’t ask me what happened I’d rather not talk about it. During my master’s I took up a keen sport of juggling and seemed to have become an expert in it. I was juggling theatre, studies and jobs as freelance consultant.

After that, up until today I’ve been working as a corporate trainer…oh yeah talking my mouth off too bozo’s not smart enough to do it themselves. Just kidding I must say I love it……but since my creative juices are not being challenged, I feel like I need to challenge myself.

So here I am hoping and wondering that I fit the bill that you require for a Radio Jockey.

Oh and by the way if you think I suck please do call me to let me know that too……because unfortunately I have this clingy friend called Hope, I really need to convince her in case I don’t make it.

Needless to say I never heard from them....
Too wild for their taste I suppose??!!!???
Anyways I had fun writing it.

I'm OK

2007-05-15T00:05:00.000-07:00

I'm hitting my late 20's and it's speeding in closer by the minute. Heck was it just yesterday when this teen Barbie bimbo called me auntie?

Wow I never thought I'd loose my temper that fast. Thank God for good friends who put a "leash" on me and send the flustered "16 something Miss perfect figure" off telling her not to take it personal and that i was just rabid.

Grrrr Auntie my foot.

Ok so maybe I've got a few extra tyres round by girth in the last one year. Well i bake the best chocolate cakes and pies in the world. So that tallies for my lack of waistline that screams @$##^%$^%&^!!!! Instead of the perfect 26!!

Ok so maybe I lack that beautiful luscious mane to toss over my shoulder and casually throw sultry looks at men. What the heck!!! I've got Curls Curls and more Curls. Cut short to the skull and its been declared as the most lovable and ruffled head among my friends. So that's ok to.

Ok so maybe i get an allergy when I think of a diet or organic food or even salads. Someone has got to value the richness and beauty of ice-creams, hamburgers dripping with extra cheese, choco chip cookies, chicken roast, lemon tarts, fish pie, pot roast ...aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh the beauty of rich glorious food. Do i dare hold them in contempt and throw my nose up at them.

Ok so maybe i don't giggle daintily. What's the harm in a full throated laugh? Do you know how great it feels to snort like a pig and laugh till you think you are gonna die??? Hehehehehahahaha. Lung power!!!

Well i don't have a problem with me, and i dont give a rat's ass doing the twist either, if you've got a problem with me.

I'm OK. As a matter of fact I'm doing bloody good !!

What's this???

2007-03-20T02:46:00.000-07:00

How difficult is it to understand abuse, rape, attempted rape or sexual harassment which according to Justice Arjit Pasayat “……. degrades and defiles the soul (and I’d like to add body too) of a female.”
Well the link below….is disturbing but yet an enlightenment….but the question is do I dare???? Do I dare stand and complain against the abuse.

http://www.legalserviceindia.com/articles/rape_laws.htm

Why does it happen?

I have no idea......

In the thesaurus the noun for rape is ‘abduction, abuse, bang, criminal attack, criminal ravishment, defilement, defloration, deflowering, depredation, desecration, despoilment, despoliation, devirgination, forcible violation, maltreatment, molestation, outrage, perversion, pillage, plunder, plundering, rapine, ravishment, sack, seduction, sexual assault, spoliation, statutory offense, violation’

And the verb form is ‘abuse, attack, bang, betray, compromise, corrupt, debauch, deceive, defile, deflorate, deflower, despoil, devirginate, dishonor, entice, force, loot, lure, maltreat, mislead, molest, outrage, pillage, plunder, ransack, ravish, ruin, sack, seduce, seize, shame, short-arm heist, spoliate, tempt, violate, wrong’

So what does the dictionary say about rape?
Here goes….
The unlawful compelling of a woman through physical force or duress to have sexual intercourse. Any act of sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person.
An act of plunder, violent seizure, or abuse; despoliation; violation: the rape of the countryside or person.
The act of seizing and carrying off by force.
To force to have sexual intercourse.
To plunder (a place); despoil.
To seize, take, or carry off by force.

And here’s what the dictionary has to say about abuse….
To use wrongly or improperly; misuse: to abuse one's authority.
To treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way: to abuse a horse; to abuse one's eyesight.
To speak insultingly, harshly, and unjustly to or about; revile; malign.
To commit sexual assault upon.
Wrong or improper use; misuse
Harshly or coarsely insulting language:
Bad or improper treatment; maltreatment
A corrupt or improper practice or custom.
Rape or sexual assault

Now it’s been confirmed at least in my dictionary. Not a single woman has been spared of this criminal offense be it the abuse, rape, attempted rape or harassment of the mind, body or soul…..she has been defiled or traumatized or affected either directly or indirectly.

She Da Queen

2007-03-09T01:45:00.000-08:00

So yesterday was women's day and I’ll be absolutely honest after all these years of big hype....why did I feel so special, whole and complete yesterday?

We had women's day last year and the year before that too and even the year before that......if you get my drift.

Well I’ll tell you why… because I’m 27 years old and this year I’ve finally become a woman. This year, I’m whole because even my spiritual body has finally come in sync with my emotional, physical, intellectual and materialistic self.

Today i realized that I cannot exist as an island or an island group i need every form of me to co exist to complete the perfect me.

I don’t make sense do i?

Ok let’s see if this makes sense….. My journey started from the day I was born. I had problems from the day I learn to speak. I mean you’d wonder how much can the first words such as baba and dada get a kid into so much trouble…well I did… I mean not because I spoke gibberish, but, more because I did a lot of things that I was not supposed to. My only defense is… how will, I know, I’m not supposed to do something unless I did it myself.

I was trouble at 5.
Physically un-coordinated and verbally challenged.

I was big trouble at 10.
Physically hyperactive.
Spiritually….duh ? what?

I was big, big trouble at 15.
Verbally termed as loud, smart mouthed and mentally challenged because I went through a disease called “deliberately obtuse” and a viral infection called “teenaged stupidity”.
Spiritually rebellious and a cast off from community.

I was big, big, big trouble at 20.
Physically, I was mammoth shaped and I had a perfect figure that resembled the globe.
Spiritually confused.
An embarrassment to the community.
Mentally totally unaware on the realities of life.
Verbally did not have any problems except for the problem of putting breaks on my verbal abilities.

At 25 I was on a mass destruction path.
I was mentally, emotionally and spiritually broken, depressed and suicidal.
Physically I was loosing weight and gaining twice as much.
I had a broken engagement.
I was on a verge of becoming a god hater.

Now ah!! I’m inching towards 30.
For once i've cast away society and not the other way around.
I love it.
I’m confident.
I’m loved.
I’ve made it in my career.
I’m spiritually whole.
I’m learning to love my physical positives and negatives.
I’ve matured.
I’ve got confidence in myself.
I feel whole and beautiful inside out.
I’m a friend.
I’m a sister.
I’m a daughter.
I’m an aunt.
I’m a teacher.
I want to be a mother someday too.
I’m queen for now.
But above all I’m a woman.

Pink Pink Pink and loving it

2007-03-07T00:48:00.000-08:00

I finally have a place to call home. After moving around for nearly 6 months. Its in an extremely hoity toity area. Its an exclusive and elite area. And I love it. Snobbish aint i?

Well so what am I up to in my new appartment??
I'm decorating it.....

And each room carries its own theme color.
The living room is all earth and rustic very tastefully down by my roomy I must admit.
Her bedroom has all the peacock colours in it. Its reallllll pretty.
We are planning to do the kitchen in yellow and green to give it a sunshine and fresh natural look. My roomie is going to the U.S to pick up the required kitchen interiors.... Yipeee yipee...i'm sooooo excited.

And finally my room....i'm doing it all in pink, off whites and lace......yyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!! Hehehe wicked huh?
and the best part is it'll freak them boys off.
My brother is already gagging at my choice of colour. He wont dare step into such a feminine room, challenges his mail sensitivities.

I love pink
I love pink
I love pink

lalalalalala

Now What?

2007-02-28T03:34:00.001-08:00

It’s really a strange observation, the way life moves.
Sometimes you strut; sometimes you shuffle your shoes.
One minute you want to die in shame.
Then the next you just love the fame.

That’s the way I feel with people too.
One minute I love them honest and true.
The next I’m so disgusted I’m screaming blue.
At the hopeless jerk and the pretentious fool.

Well now notice my friend i say feel.
Feel is not the same thing as real.
In reality its a whole different story,
You just bite your tongue and say sorry.

So what is it i'm talking about?
Relationships of course without a doubt.
So is it simple or riddled with complexity.
To know better first you breath nice and easy.

The Extrovert and what people don’t know

2007-02-28T01:44:00.000-08:00

They are loud and in your face. The party is usually where they are. The noise is around them. People tease them plenty, and they, being sporty take it well. They laugh and laugh and are able to take a lot of good natured ribbing. You hardly or never see an extrovert cry. They have the sunniest smiles around them and always are the first to volunteer in any crisis. They tend to be over enthusiastic; and their ‘never say die attitude’ if not understood correctly, is usually misunderstood and often considered annoying.

However, here's what you don’t know about the other side of an extrovert... . . .

In reality they are terribly shy but in two meetings they become your best friend; so, you forget that when you meet them the first time they are actually at a loss of words.

Some people call them sassy, impish or brazen. But you must remember again the situation called for it. If nervous and frightened they need to throw the sass and brazen attitude to regain their confidence which is missing at that moment.

Hey and their incessant jabber is just a show to keep people at a distant. What do you really know about the extrovert? You might know everything about them; however, do you know them? Then seem extremely easy to read, but trust me they let you know only what they choose too. They can be highly mysterious about their true feelings and emotions.

An extrovert may be madly in love but they’ll never let you know for fear of rejection. An extrovert might be really hurt by something you said, but they’ll never let out a squeak, they’d just laugh it off and shake their head wiping the tears of laughter when you’ve actually broken their heart.

An extrovert will be a friend for life and they usually hate nasty scenes. You can be guaranteed that there won’t be a confrontation or an ugly scene with them.

But please don’t push the extrovert because they reach breaking points too. When they fly off the handle don’t agitate them further. Once they simmer down they come back feeling extremely silly and repentant about the entire scene. Even if it’s not their fault they seek forgiveness of the entire world.

In a nut shell sparkling and exuberant beings who love to hide behind uncertain and insecure masks.

Traffic

2006-11-23T22:00:00.001-08:00

[I wrote this next piece while witnessing the entire incident in front of my gate. I found it absolutely fascinating and amusing.]

The obstinate buffalo.
The angry motorist – glares raring to go.
The humongous black beat throes its nose in the air.
It was there first. So it will not move – it’s only fair.
The middle of the road the blasted meat factory chooses.
Man and beast engaged in a fierce battle of “stare-you-down-first”.
If looks could kill….
‘One a pile of ashes for the Ganges’
The other….
‘A barbecued offering’
SILENCE blares through the street.
In slow motion I see.
The metal bump to the living rump.
A smile of victory.
Steel blades still send goose bumps over cattle hide.
Man rules over beast!
The four footed obstacle moves aside.
A dented bump and a hurting rump later. The motorist speeds away. Gloating inside.
Indian traffic anything BUTT..

8:30 A.M

2006-11-23T21:59:00.000-08:00

[I wrote this when I was going insane with the traffic scene in Chennai. How much ever I love the city there are certain things that are far from amusing]

Auto’s bursting with children bundled one on top of the other, limbs precariously sticking out. They balanced left and right shifting their weights as the auto swerved dangerously taking a one way street a short route to school ( save time n save petrol) the harried auto driver labored on with his burden like a pregnant woman in the midst of shrill screams and gasps that escape from young mouths every time he avoids a collision.

The children wave at their friend traveling on a scooter. The good old family transport carry father, mother, brother sister and baby. Only daddy gets to wear the helmet, the children scowl. The baby chuckles and lunges in the direction of a tricycle with a massive load of colorful plastic pots. They are heaped fifteen feet high (talk about a towering offence)
I sigh and honk cajoling the other vehicle in front to move on. Irritable and already tired at the start of the day the traffic continues to clog my senses.
The creaking buses! The mobile leaning towers of India swollen with the crowd and ready to topple over. Mammoths so menacing they block the road and refuse to move forward.
The cyclists darting in and out squeezing through every available space the super men of the Indian roads who manage to dodge and bound over every rut and obstacle.
Tears down my eyes as the noise and the smoke slowly choke me. The car behind honking the most horrendous ear splitting horn, loud enough to raise the dead. I glare at the motorist who dares to overtake me. The start of a new day.

The story of my life

2006-11-23T20:07:00.000-08:00

[Some time ago my boss had asked me to write up a profile C.V style for a client who wanted to do a background check on the trainers… …. I wasn’t exactly in a great mood to write. I was harried and hassled and my mind just wouldn’t work that day so this is what I came out with…… (Of course naturally later I sent her the official looking one.)This was just to give my boss a heart attack because she insisted I send it across in an hour’s time and I hate being forced or rushed. Thankfully my boss is a good sport and took my nonsense with a hearty laugh. Anyways, here the mail I sent her…….]

Hi Kathy,

I know you held a gun to my head and forced me to say o.k. to the Mumbai trip.

So what else could I do but say ok.
You say go to Mumbai so I go.
So here’s my profile given below.

Like most other kids I had an education. I had parents nice enough to send me to an English medium school so I managed to finish my schooling at Union Christian Matriculation Higher Secondary School, Chennai.
On passing out I thought I had conquered the world. Yes for me it was an achievement.
Barely had I come out victorious out of this war when the army general and her lieutenant, (Mom and Dad in that order) decided that it was time to send me to torture camp. More Education! So I was forced to do a degree in English literature.
Why English in specific?
Well that seemed to be the only language I spoke and being a drama queen my parents thought I would ace in Shakespearean Studies, Poetry and the likes. Little did they know there were other subjects such as History of English Literature, Linguistics, The origin of Grammar, Etc etc.
I thought cruelty to children was banned. I should have a filed a case against my parents and the educational institute for the abuse and battering caused to such a delicate, beautiful mind such as mine.
No I thought they will not destroy me I will survive. So I did. I passed out of English literature with average scores like an average kid.
But the journey was lonely dark and deep.
I managed to break every rule in the book.
Scraped by without being suspended, rebelled the authorities, fought for my freedom by leading strikes and demonstrations(I wished too much of a coward to actually get to it).
But here I was a fresh graduate older, wiser and at cross roads again.
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Hey Kathy,
You told me it would flow out. You were right. He he he he he. Just kidding check the other mail.

Love Saps.