Here comes an Award!

Start the Music! Here comes an award. Now, just imagine one demented mind screaming up and down in joy. P.Subbu aka Prerna ( whoa, what a name - do you sing?) tagged and awarded me a month back, here I come with it!

Me, the versatile blogger - Did you like my boring stories on Facebook, or may be the one I babbled on turning 25 or was it one of those unplanned restauranttalks?

Whatever, my dearo – I am glad, you chose to give me this.

This award comes with a tag to write seven random facts.As if the name of this blog is not random enough. Dont blame me if you find this super boring. Subbu asked for it and you have come this far. So, please read on.

• I like reading instructions and details behind packets.It is one of my favourite pass times to walk into a grocery store and read through  packets of pasta, noodles, sauce and even detergents. I do this with no intention of buying any of those. 
• I have a sibling, whom I adore. Hold your breath, we have never had a single fight till now. No hitting, screaming or whatsoever. The maximum both of us have done is gone to sleep face down for two hours and woke up to amma’s scolding. 
• Someone groped me in a bus, and I dragged him to a police station. I was 19.
• I form judgements on people who fail to understand differences between a person's profession and his personal life. 
• I have worked on and created two proper, workable, investor wallet filling business plans with women enterprises. Empowerment of women through entrepreneurship is one of my interest areas, that I really wish to revisit. 
•  I have returned back a love letter because of a spell error. I have also refused to accept it when he came back with the second draft. 
• My only problem in English language is usage of articles. I have a terrible habit of mixing “a and “an” with the wrong words and am trying very hard to get over it. If you find a mistake, be polite and leave a comment on it. I promise to be thankful to you and send that magic candy through dreams. 

What is love, awards, tags and chocolates if not shared? So yes, here it goes – from me to you!

Versatility, here it goes. To the tagged ones here, you can choose to display the award and write random facts about yourself. If you have already written earlier, link back to it and leave a post.If you choose to ignore this award, it will not cause you seven years of bad luck or leave you with blood puking cancer. It is perfectly okay, if you do not want to pick this up. But do it, okay?

·    Archana– my name sake, the pretty one and mother of a Krishna baby. She writes on work , opines on fair and lovely and talks about cricket.All in one blog. And, she has another cooking blog too.

·    Anu –My first reader. Isha Follower. Happy, joyous soul. She has the knack to announce about whatsapp and facebookon a post and not make it blight.  Herpet peeves are to write about pets andsuper cool food ideas, like milk oil .Readher to admire the way she lives.

·    Sumitra– Just like how she has, I started reading her recently too. Else, I so could have tricked random.org, showed booo to Spiff and won the giveaway. You had me when you put up Joey on the about page. You moo, bark or yawn, I am all yours.She writes beautifully on marriages, has a funny bone on how hard it was growing up with a set of parents like yours (okay, not exactly but you get the idea), and in between sneaks a chocolate cake. Killer, I tell you. An Isha follower too!

·    MyEra – The kind of people you wish you could directly meet via the blog. Her stories have been so inspirational and truly moving. Read her posts on celebrating the human, her letters to daughter and as though all this moving talk is not enough, she writes recipes too!

·     Prashanth– Don’t you like it when men write honest posts about women issues? He writes on serious issues PMS,abortions with an adorable understanding, and makes one smile with a happy poem!

P.S: I know you did not ask me, but that header was flicked from Shabby Blogs. I will write a proper credit note for them soon. Till then, pardon the kid for some copyright issue.     

Some Gyaan with a Rocher

Not really on the lines of Eat Pray Love, but the above combination almost always makes anyone better. I am thankfully, no exception. Self given gyaan makes life a lot simpler. For someone like me, it is the only way to grow. I do not listen to too many people, not a trait am proud of.

Not trying to get preachy, but here is my little mental list that made things sane.

·        The first 25 years are over. There is really no way to change stuff out there. It is important one embraces the past truly to move forward.

·        At times, you should learn that some shit will be thrown on you. Even if you have not done anything for it. It is best one learns to escape it or endure it for a short while. Whatever, move on quickly. Not a consolation, but move on.

·        In context, it is important to give back – the bad stuff. None of us are even close to saints, and I am certainly learning the ropes to be a bitch in slapping back. It is not easy, especially when you have been trained, raised not to be one.

·        Live in a nice place. I am working on this one, but I have lately realized how so important it is.

So the last two days, I bought fresh stuff and cooked. I spoke with people who matter the most ( read:  present family only) and took two half days off early from work to sleep and to shop.

I will leave you with a picture clicked late last night. Even when life is filled with work, pressure and dirty keyboards – there are some stuff like these,  that makes it light and lovely!

 Enjoy the bite. Happy Days :)

Headless Chicken and Radish Aromas

Source: imgfave.com via Archana on Pinterest

The last few days are running around me. I am trying very hard to move along that pace, and repeatedly, I fall. Then as if I am two years old, I run again like a headless chicken.

There is too much to do; everyone wants a bit and piece of me at work and no one seems to want me other than at work. I hate to be wanted or to want someone. Both are dangerous.

I have realized that home sickness is by far the secret reason why people take drastic decisions. It has all potential abilities to kill a person from within. Cancer has some domestic company.

I smell radish in the air half the time. I smell vadagams inside a cab. I sniff for Sabena in my kitchen. I am missing stuff I never knew existed. Not food, but home.

The feeling is similar to how the olive oil feels in my feta cheese salad. It does not know if it has to coat the tomato, or stay away quietly expecting my fork to kindle it. I don’t know too. I need separation. To be away from where I am and what I do. I am not going to give you a disclaimer that I love my job and all that..but yes, I want that Nikoi Island place without a single man around.

Marriage is the single most defining thing in so many lives. I am mere spectator variety. By the way, the recent facebook albums surge are a pastime for many virgin girls. I have no clue when it is going to come and hit me like a bus (think PAM expression of Phoebe). When it does, I will also publicly announce it. Until then, do your head a favour and shut up. I can be very violent at times.

I totally understand if it is impossible to comment. Sorry, will find my sense and come back soon.

The Smarties in School

I am not sure if things like this still happen at schools. But then, yearly twice – these useless medical talks took place. The girls marched alone to a library or a classroom. A real boring looking doctor (mostly lady) came and explained about cycles, bikes and all that. We pretended to listen, and missed a period (math period only). The boys sat back in class working out (algebra).

“I told you da, that maths sir is always partial to girls” cribbed Badam Ram.

It is a day after March 8^th, let’s just assume 1996 or so. My recent second best enemy is now Ram .Please don’t get me wrong – I had nothing for him or against math at that age. I just could not handle the word partiality for this issue. It is a shame, and you will know why.

After exactly 45 minutes of lecturing, we were stuffed with a packet of you know what in neatly pink ribbon tied blue packets. All of us have had family induction sessions, and knew the story. Most loved being innocent and acted hush about it. On the other hand, there were people like Podi Priya ( as in paripu podi) and yours truly who liked calling a pad as a pad (exam pads included).

So, our conversation went something like this.

Badam Ram: Hey, what are you girls having in your hand?

Hush Girls: GO da, we won't tell you. It is for girls only. Not for boys

Nameless boys: As if, we are interested…As if!

Badam Ram: Hey, I think I know da..come here….( forms a gumbal)

Hush Girl Leader: Hey, okay…I will tell you ram, but you have to promise you wont tell anyone. Promise okay…This is a chocolate only for girls.

Huge amounts of oohhss, aahs and smirks. Priya gives a nasty look and says – Dai,  that is a pad da.

The ultimate me adds on – and, you can’t play cricket with it da.

Badam Ram pulls it from us, turns to his group of cricket buddies – Dai, evangulke theriyala. Adhu whisper! ( he says, in anything but a whisper)

*facepalm* BIG TIME MOKKAI!

Podi priya is from gult land, and always bought the most spicy paripu podis to school. I almost fell in love with her mom.
Badam Ram is my own name for a cashewnut. I do not like cashews, except in katlis.
gumbal - crowd, huddle as in cricket terms
evangulke theriyala - they are dumb.
MOKKAI - Er..dog bite. A systematic disorder of the human mind resulting in untimely spasms of meaningless words often having deeply anchored second meanings. Can also be used to describe a scenario where a party almost dog bites another's ears.

This post is heavily inspired by the total my previous post - The S(w)treet Love Proposal and a Veg puff and by a recent conversation with podi priya.

I realised there are way too many brackets here. Sorry ya!

Broken Conversations

My wandering kohl eyes look at you

To see you look away at dark clouds

You turn left, left to see it all out

The newly done fringe to my left

Has my eyes nudging at it

The brown pants of khaki

It is muddy and dirty

Cricket all morning I guess

The shirt sure needs a press

You don’t have a woman in your life

Do you?

Dashing clouds; pouring rains

My smudge proof kohl lined eyes

Tears, as you would call them

Dashing hearts, pouring eyes

The song you are tapping to

I hear it in my heart fully

Over a meadow and a valley

My eyes look at you tapping high,

Dirty nails you got. Oh Sigh!

You don’t have a woman in your life

Do you?

Now, now you choose to see me

At my kohl lined eyes in glee

Arrogance you call, it is not the kohl but my eye

I am no pretty muse, for sure

You look at me for a moment and more

I am no engineer in degree

Yet, I created this moment of your care

Boyish looks make me swoon

Shirts with checks in maroon

Oh, it makes me head side tumble

That two day grown stubble

The woman I see in your eye

Is it me?

Empty seats left to wander

We are reaching Lavender

As I turn away to hide the tear

You move a step near

Flutter my heart, misses a beat

Doors open, and you move clear

Without realizing the heat

Oh Boy, did you know I still miss you?

The men I know are mighty few

For I know the woman I see in your eye

It is Me.

The conversation is partly inspired by a newly bought Mac Kohl stick and terrible rains in today’s train journey to work. The man I speak of is surreal, mystical and resides near Lavender.