Pages from Summer-1

A while ago,Say,Rach,and me decided to do some serious blogging regarding our favourite cities-ones we've been to and loved,and ones we'd love to be in someday.I'd planned to write an unofficial tourists' guide to Singapore,where I spent summer vacation this year,but I'm not Taurean by zodiac alone.A little on the lazy side,I think cataloging my experiences and making chronological posts about what I did there might require some nice thinking,a little free time and some spirited enthusiasm,luxuries I cannot afford right now.

What I'm going to do instead,is upload this diary entry I made at the airport,just minutes before leaving Singapore.

I'll leave you with the first post under Pages from Summer.This is my first attempt at writing a series,so wish me luck :) .And yes,also,read . :D

Warning : Goodbyes are very hard for me.There might be bits of unnecessary melodrama here and there,which you are advised to ignore.

27 June,2010

8.00 A.M

I am homeward bound,after a long vacation in Singapore.The past five weeks have been too good to be true-and now I simply cannot believe that this holiday has come to an end.

However I know that we are not to cry that it's over;instead,we must smile that it happened.

So,I shall revel in the last few minutes in this strange and wonderful land.

Changi is a starry oasis-glitzy,imposing,beckoning.

My flight has been delayed,giving me a few minutes to reflect on my trip,(something I admit I have done only fleetingly this past one month,as I was busy being thrilled to the very core)

and so...here we are.

Green.That is the first impression I had of this city.Not the verdant dark green that we see back home,but a very tropical shade of shiny,healthy,sparkly(that's not a word???What gives,Blogger?),pale green.The green stays with me,from my first view of this island town nine years ago and from ten thousand kilometres above,to my rushed cab ride to the airport this morning watching fields,lawns and road signs shoot past while devouring last midnight's blueberry muffins and today's peanut butter and toast.My last indulgence this summer.

The morning is perfect,as mornings ought to be.Grey skies.Just the way I like them.The infamous noiseless Singapore drizzles descending gently-I've become rather fond of them-besides,Bangalore's sudden storybook thunderstorms are only three hours and a few oceans away.

The airport terminals are decked with white (I think they must be) orchids..Splendid.

I'm wearing midnight blue. :)
And,I wasn't charged for the excess baggage!

The only thing that seems wrong is that I have to leave this place.Bummer.

We are well matched,this dear city and me,for what could be as perfect together as bread and cheese,

as a tropical island set in the sea and a shutterbug?

As a country of living miracles and the eternal romantic?

As a shoppers' paradise and a closet shopaholic waiting to be awakened?

Amma says,and so does Dumbledore,that it does not do good to dwell in dreams and forget to live,but here's a pickle.

What if one month of somebody else's life is your dream come true?

How do you return to living yours-cast the memories aside like a magical midsummer dream?

The guard's asking us to move to the gate.

More later.

Bye!

*************************************************************************************

It ends there.

I was thinking of maybe doing a post or two on all the blatant gluttony I engaged in ,or the nice nature trails I spotted there.Let's see how it goes.

Cheers everyone :)

I belong with the Flintstones.

I know that teenagers are supposed to remain un-fazed by technology,but hello!You just hopped onto the blog of the exception.

I'm not saying I don't like impressive new gadgets.It's just that I'll need more than a user manual and a crappy customer service agency to figure out how to get it working.

Which is why I like MS Powerpoint,and Post its on my dresser's mirror.

And good ol'd email,or maybe even posted letters,if more people cared to send em around.

I do like Facebook,it's true,and may have borderline OCD about checking my updates everyday,but since when has FB been the new kid on the block?!Old news right?

I like it when people call me to tell me something important,rather than sending a teeny lil text that screams IMPORTANT on its first line.

I simply can't wake up to an alarm clock.I never hear it,honestly,I don't see how anyone expects a tinny, shrill,possibly ultrasonic weird noise to rouse them from the deepest REM cycles.

I need a human to jolt me awake,and oh,if you have a cup of tea in your hands awaiting,brownie points for you :)

I love watching reruns and old movies,speaking of which,I also do not watch movies online if I can avoid it.

I like my 3 hour sappy surprises in the cinema halls or at least playing on my tv in the bedroom.

Salads with a generous drizzle of olive oil are yummy indeed,but I''d rather grab a bowl of curd rice and pickle instead of a low fat wrap.

There's something about the comfort of an old blanket that a new pashmina bedsheet can never achieve.

Old possessions do bring a lot of bliss,and that's the reason I hardly ever clean out my closet.'De cluttering' is a nasty little word.

Like Phoebe says,they(I mean the old stuff,can you try to keep up?!) remind me of a simpler time,and that's a good thing right? :)

PS-I'm blogging a lot nowadays.Wonder why that is ?I have a lot to say to world,apparently.

Hope you're listening.

Cheers!

In pursuit of happyness...?

We all love it.We all need it.We all seek it.
Happiness is that one thing that sometimes eludes us as disciplinedly as garbage chuckers in India avoid dustbins.
Odd,isn't it,how happiness seems to get harder and harder to find as we grow up?
Coincidence?
I think not.

I remember,as a kid,when my dad was posted in Calcutta, (yes not Kolkata yet) and trips to the South could be made only once in a year;we would gather our mattresses and suitcases and board the train to Madras(bcoz somehow,all Tamilians have to go to Madras : ).
More often than not,we stayed at this little motel called Tourist Home,which was nestled in its own cozy corner,right opposite the Egmore Railway Station.I don't quite remember who made the decision to stay there everytime.I never questioned it,though.
It was one of the truths of my 7 year old life.
I always enjoyed the stay at Tourist Home.It was our family's thing! :)
We would trundle up the hotel to one of the rooms on top after the train deposited us in the early hours of the a.m. Then,after a quick shower with Hamam soap (yes,another one of those "must do,don't ask why" things) we would all rush down to an early bird breakfast.I always ate Dosa.Wow,I sound like a fussy little kid .don't I ?But no,I wasn't. really.I merely loved dosas way too much.
Dad would always eat a variety (and a lot) of things for breakfast while Mom would cast murderous looks at him,whilst he unconcernedly told the waiter exactly how he wanted his oothappam to be made.:D
My Nani,on the other hand,was an absolute delight.She was my playmate,whom I most definitely drove to boredom with my never ending stories,and yet she listened.Always.Uncomplainingly.
And this was only breakfast. :)

Relax.I'm not going to narrate the entire itenary here.I do want to mention those evenings though.If we weren't at the beach,then I would perch myself near the window and gaze longingly at the huge white-grey domes that topped the station,and watch both the noisy pigeons that flew atop it,and the noisy crowd that jostled beneath it.
I would count the number of train whistles I heard,and I'd feel strangely happy each time my tally increased.:D
My point being,it was so easy to be happy then.Easy,effortless even.
Now,it's a whole another story.I have lived for eighteen years now,and I suppose I must have gotten wiser,but I still don't know what exactly happiness is and where and how one must seek it.
So,for now,after a whole evening of some soul searching,I declare ...
Happiness is a day at Tourist Home.
Later .
:)

On friendship

Friendship is a concept everyone has an opinion on.
And rightly so. While the comforts of luxury are not everyone’s privilege, a good friend is everyone’s birthright.
Or is it?
Sometimes, we find that certain people tend to make friends rather easily.
Some of us call them outgoing.
Some call them fun.
Some of us ,with a case of sour grapes, are content to label them social whores.
When you ask yourself why a certain person makes friends almost everywhere, pat comes the reply “ Just the vibe they’ve got”.

So?

I mean, if you needed that vibe to make friends, that just nullifies the whole concept of your friends being there for you despite your personality (or lack of it thereof ) , doesn’t it?

Assuming that you’re lucky enough to have a few really good friends, whom you get to see on a frequent basis, answer me this?
What kind of friends do you make? Do you have different categories?

The party friends…the ones good for a drink, a party, and a night out,...whenever you want it.

The mellow ones, whom you can share a cuppa and redecorate your room with.

The intellectuals, who are perfectly at home discussing music and will not regret spending a good hour arguing the merits of the latest bestseller with you.

The cushioners,who always have a friendly shoulder, a sympathetic smile, and a duvet on which you can camp the night, when the world does a gloomy on you.

Or are your friends a wonderful amalgam of all these shades, rolled into one brilliant and original combo,
people you would give your right arm and leg for,
souls you’re so relieved to have found ,that you’d never let 'em go ? :)

What if you had to let go?
What would you do then?
Would you resign yourself to endless hours of Skype,frequent travels,the occasional email,
and look around in other places and settle for a little more accessible,albeit less cherished friendship?
Pardon me if I’m wrong, but friendship requires more than a friendly face and a clean parole record.
Much like love, friendship requires certain chemistry. If it didn’t, the whole world would be one big ridiculously happy family.Not that that’s a bad thing. Or not. Whatever.

What if letting go was too painful to handle? Would you choose to live in a dream, and end up completely cranky and disillusioned when the dream ends (oh and it will).

Maybe I'm being a bit of a damper.

Maybe friendship doesn’t require this much thinking over. Maybe it should be more light hearted, with a lot more je ne sais quoi and a lot less of “what if” and” but”.

What then, is the secret to a wonderful friendship, and how did it reveal itself to you?

Like they say, the world’s a stage,and everyone’s a poet ! Expound your theories please,your friends await your presence on the dais,one hand clutching a coffee,and the other,holding a barf bag.
Because they know you. :D :p

“A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails."— Anonymous

P.S –The above post was written when I was half asleep.Just pounded out everything that came to mind out on my keyboard.Feel free to wade through the rambles and share your opinions :)

Thought of the day #2 a.k.a Recipe for a Smile

Everything tells you a story.

Like your iPod, for your instance.

Tell you what?

1)Switch to the shuffle mode on your player.

2)Jot down stuff abut the first song that you listen to and like ,or just dwell on it.

3)Think about when you first heard the song,when you first fell in love with it,who the source was(Youtube,Ryan Seacrest,THE Music Obsessed Maniac friend everyone seems to have),when you first grew sick of it,and when you came back to it,like the prodigal son,and the song took you right back in its wake,engulfing you like always, within its magic.

4)Let it fill your head,your heart,your soul(not for those "omg that's what happened to me" breakup songs we all have and cry over though!).

5)Watch it work its way through you..and you'll be smiling in no time!

Try it now,if you'd like,and comment and telll me what you thought of!K?

Incomplete is a bad thing.

So I was idling my time away online as usual.I logged into Blogger as per routine,and accidentally navigated to the drafts section of the posts.Intriguing titles and dangling phrases led me to take a closer look,and I unwittingly stole a few glances at the past me.

I found a couple of unfinished poems.They weren't anything the world would miss(or even things I would miss for that matter,...naah!I'd be lying if I said that.I am narcissistic enough to miss my own verse,anyway,that's quite besides the point,isn't it?).I really couldn't tell what I was trying to say through the poems though.Somewhere,I think I was on the verge of getting hold of the soul of the poem.With sweet irony though,that beginning brought with it the end.Poof.Draft over.

I also observed a gradual change in my writing style.My older posts were more formal sounding,with attention to grammar,attempts to pay attention to punctuation,with proper and non silly sounding words.With time,I have begun to shy away from attempting poetry,and have stuck to writing post after post about my mundane life sparing the occasional bursts into melancholy,because I'm ashamed to rhyme,afraid to break out,and too busy to spare a few minutes for pondering.

I wonder if micro blogging sites like Twitter, and Facebook updates,have anything to do with my.....impatience.No other word for it.I try to return to my old self,at least when it comes to thought patterns,but it's impossible.That was me then.This is me now.I can't really seek out a past identity of mine and hide beneath it when I'm definitely not the same person underneath anymore.It would be like effectively making null and void whatever's happened to me in the last few months,like erasing a sizeable chunk of my experiences in life.And that's not what I intend to do.

The second best thing I can think of then,is to have a record of what I was like earlier,so that I can look back at some old memories and paint a picture of things as they used to be.Then,in bitter times,I can live on a bit of borrowed sentiment from the past.And that's where old post come in.To me,they are the key to unlocking my younger self.

That's why the sight of unfinished drafts frustrate me.The leave me wondering about what exactly I was thinking then.Sometimes,I remember the circumstances in which I penned a draft,but I do not remember my reactions to that situation.How unfair is that?!

That's why I 'm going to take this moment to remind you all to finish your thoughts.At least whilst you're on Blogger.You might not feel like writing just then,but endeavor to make your thoughts a little more lucid,so you can always come back to it later.Don't deceive yourself :your mind isn't an impenetrable bank,time gets through to everything.You eventually will forget.You might lose a moment of your life in the sense that you will not be able to remember what that moment revolved around.

Sorry if I sound half crazed,but I just want to impress upon you that your identity is the most important thing you can ever own,and so, a ManU vs. Arsenal showdown definitely does not justify leaving your thoughts unfinished.

I'll talk more when I'm not being strange rambling girl (which is what many of you must have begun to call me in your head,I'm sure).

'K bye!

Umm...just scroll down,will ya?

I haven't had a room of my own for years.
Dad's moved all over the country for the last eighteen years,so I've never lived in a place for too long ,my last house being the exception.
I've always lived in rented spaces.My own home,waits patiently for us,nestled away in a quiet corner,while it accommodates some unknown faces,who eventually move out,and make room for more unknown faces.
Thus,I have,every time, been granted four walls in which I can,as Dad puts it "Do whatever crap I want to"(he didn't really say that,but hello!I can read minds very well.)But that's not the same as having your own room is it?
I've always wanted a room that says "me" all over the place.My brick and mortar twin.
A sanctuary where I could listen to Norah Jones and Maroon 5 endlessly,fill the walls with nails on which could rest some happy moments,captured in sepia tones.The room would definitely be blue or pink or or a combination of both.I'd have a tall mirror with the fancy studio lights.The balcony would be constructed just the way I want it.It would face some open land,so people could stand there and look at the night sky,I mean really look at it; a view so unobstructed that it feels like all those stars are only a leap away.

There would be a secret closet tucked away under some random piece of furniture,and I'd keep valuable junk locked away in it.Nothing very interesting(to you,at least.Smirk!)Every time I sat quietly in my jhoola,memories would play inside of my head.Of good times.Silly times.Waltzing times.Awesome times.Plain times.They would have one thing in common.They'd be testaments to my relationship with my abode,my room.

It would be the room where I once daydreamed,while pretending to read History,or doodled while attempting to solve equations.
It would be the room where my friends and me first danced to Hips don't lie when it raged across the whole world.
It would be the place where Mom and me sat for hours and explored Bollywood music via Youtube...
The place that sheltered me while I watched the rain,or the birds.
The windows I looked through when people whined my name from the parking lot cum playground below.
The place that helped me nurse my first heartbreak,
the place I hid in while avoiding pesky kids and nosy guests,
the place that sang,laughed cried,celebrated,brooded and lived with me.

I'm hoping it will become a reality once Dad retires and I graduate( which is three years away and gives me a lot of time for posting sentimental rambles like this).

Thanks for listening , you guys!I feel a lot more hopeful now :)