Announcement

I have moved my blog to Medium. Bidding adieu after eight years to Blogspot. :)

Still I Rise

Today I had my classical dance (Bharatanatyam Salangai Pooja). It’s the first symptom of a deep seated passion.

I started learning at the age of 22. I have been ridiculed from the beginning, why do you need to strain yourself, you’re not getting it. You already have a successful career, why do you need to pursue something you are mediocre? Passion doesn’t listen to reason. And in the course of my studies, I actually did fail after three years and quite rightly so at that point in time. I picked myself up again and trained harder.

The beginning of this year has been the worst of everything. I honestly believed at one point my life was meaningless and worthless and I was simply going through the motions of plain existence. I threw myself into dance — I started going for classes 4 times a week. It was my sanctuary. In that one hour, I was free from mental trauma. It was a wonderful meditation, for body, mind and soul.

My teacher then suggested I do a salangai pooja. I was highly skeptical. I slowly agreed. I started saving up for it. I blocked everything else that made me happy because I didn’t trust my mind with what it perceived as happiness any more. And the peace that dance gave me was too sacred to ignore.

I went on stage and danced my life out. In 2013, I casually prayed to Lord Nataraja at Chidambaram that I’d love to learn Bharatanatyam. In 2018, unexpectedly, I offered this small token performance in a temple. As an agnostic, Bharatanatyam has been free enough to let me explore my faith.

I am sadly a perfectionist. And I fought my stage fear when I know I’m far from perfect. I know my Natyarambha became lopsided after half hour. I knew my adavus became heavier and heavier. But my one constant was my smile. Because the one fundamental thing that dance taught me is that I am enough. When my body couldn’t digest food in depression, my mind couldn’t hold onto hope, dance gave me a purpose to cling on to that permanent non-damageable soul.

Aham Brahmasmi

TL;DR

I rose like a phoenix,
From the ashes of doom,
In fiery tones of orange and red.

 

 

What I got wrong about self-love

If you are a regular visitor to my blog, you will know that self-love has been an oft-visited theme for the past two or three years. I have under numerous occasions extolled the values of self love in various contexts. After a certain part in time, there crept a smugness into my character that I have indeed mastered the ability of self-love.

To my utter horror I realised, that was far from the truth.

The recent complete collapse of the world I am familiar with served as a rude wake up call. I had been experiencing various pressures on various fronts. One fine day the teapot finally blew the lid off.

I was supposed to be the logical guru. My anxiety had ensured layers and layers of contingency plans Yet, the tsunami of terrible events had broken every dam, wall and shield I built across my heart.

It's easy to profess self-love when you are winning accolades, getting ranks and publishing short stories. Self-love is easy when you are surrounded by sycophants. Self-love is easy when you are recovering from a bruised ego.

Self-love isn't just that. Self-love is being kind to yourself when you know you break down completely. Self-love is accepting yourself when you are writhing in the throes of rejection. Self-love is believing in yourself when every other person thinks you are wasting your time. Self-love is simply being there when the thunderstorms of tears crash through your soul. Self-love is accepting your guilt as you recoil in horror at how you sabotaged a beautiful friendship.

When I was drowning in pain, meditation was a life-raft I clung on to.  I was shocked at how cruel the voices in my head were. The major sources of mental pain were from within. Somewhere down the line, my perfectionism had become dangerous, my obsession with results downright deadly. The whispers of taunt that recalled every failure since childhood, the sneers of ineptitude echoing in my brain and the flashbacks of every mean thing ever said to me ricocheted in my skull. I would never be so cruel to my worst enemy and yet I was unforgiving and merciless to my own self.

I have started picking up the pieces where I left off. Whenever a sneaky cruel thought creeps in, I try to imagine if this were to happen to a friend what would I say. One of my friends told me, 'It is ok to make mistakes, why do you spiral into oblivion for doing so'. And that is what I tell my voices.

For all the pressures and ill words that exist in the environment, the most vindictive are the ones within. I am trying to develop a healthy relationship with myself. I am significantly calmer. In the end, it takes both practice and time, just like any other relationship.

In short, self-love is unconditional. It is with you in the best of times and the worst of times.

Zero

In honour of the recently announced national mathematics day, I thought I'll write a blog post on the sheer poetry of zero.

When I was growing up, Shakuntala Devi was a fascination. I bought every book of hers. She had a large repertoire of calculating algorithms from numerous sources. In one of her books, she said that zero was invented by Indians.

I was surprised at that piece of information. By then, the number system had been etched in my mind as a matter of fact. To think that someone would've had to invent something like zero astounded my teenage brain. And yet we did! Recorded by Aryabhatta and Brahmagupta, we don't know exactly how the decimal system evolved. But we do know that it was in contemporary use at that time in history around 500-700 AD. Anyone who recollects the Roman numeral system will understand how cumbersome addition and subtraction was in that representation. In fact, the English word 'zero' was derived across centuries and miles from the Sanskrit word 'shunya'.

Indian mathematicians have a unique quality and that is creativity. From the poetic talents of Pingala, Brahmagupta through the genius of Ramanujam, whose short career was illuminated by brilliant proofs, till our contemporary Fields Medallist Manjul Bhargava, our mathematicians possess an innate creativity. I am sure the beauty of mathematics will remain firm in India. After all, it's universal and just beautiful :) 

When Life throws you out of your Comfort Zone

First things first, I'm blogging this from my phone. So discomfort has been set pretty much in every sense.

In the past month, I've fallen ill twice. I can only describe the experience as being physically thrust out of my comfort zone and left to fend for myself in the deserts of pain and discomfort. When I am in physical pain, I will do anything to make it stop. I will believe two and two makes five. To bake me more thoroughly in the solar furnace, I was also plagued by flames of self doubt, anxiety and other nasty things.

But I survived.

In the end, that's all that rings in my head. I survived. I had amazing friends who were there for me. I had wonderful family support. I have million things to be grateful for. But most importantly, I survived.

We are just a ripple in space-time, witnessing life. I'm grateful for these experiences. For it is not age that has taught me bravery or given me strength. Rather it is exactly these testing moments that make me stronger and give me hope that no matter what life throws at me or what I screw up, there is hope to move forward.

This Year in Book Reviews

This post is on all the books I read this year.

The Palace of Illusions - Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

The palace of illusions was a fine novel. I was apprehensive about yet another take on our epics. But this book did not disappoint. The language was very simple but not amateurish. The narration kept me hooked and I was rifling through the pages a lot. It was very enjoyable to hear Mahabharata from the point of view of Draupadi.  While many retellings vilify her for laughing at Duryodhana's confusion, this version has an interesting take on it.

The Rise of Sivagami - Anand Neelakantan

Yet another book by an Indian author is on this list. Fueled by the Baahubali craze I purchased this book. I particularly enjoyed Kattappa's origin story. I'm extremely excited to know how the plot thickens. This is a prequel set in the immersive universe. Sivagami's character is definitely one of the most intriguing in the movies and the book does not disappoint.

Women at War - Vara Hildebrand

A non fiction book is next on my list. It described the all-female regiment that served in Subhash Chandra Bose INA. Though they never actually fought, this book describes their trials, tribulations and their mindsets quite eloquently. There is a wonderful authenticity through photographs and interviews that you picture yourself being led by Capt. Lakshmi.

The Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

I revisited this particularly riveting tale in its original avatar. This is a story of the most romantic revenge. There is something in human nature that is immensely attracted to the age old tale of good defeats evil. Edmond Dantes, the highly successful sailor, poised to marry his sweetheart gets thrown into jail by jealous rivals in career and love. The prosecutor might have saved him but due to personal reasons, he keeps him in jail. Edmond, being a simple trusting person, believes he does not have enemies and languishes in prison. Withering away for fourteen long years, he strikes upon a magnificent treasure and rewards those who helped him and takes ruthless revenge on those who wronged him. He leaves the reader with the enigmatic statement for all the problems in the world - "Wait and Hope"! Do give this book a try.

Career of Evil - Robert Galbraith

This is a fast paced thriller by JK Rowling under a pseudonym. I enjoyed the style, a refreshing difference from the Harry Potter saga. Cormoran Strike, a private investigator, is sent a nasty mutilated leg in the mail. More disturbing is the fact that it was addressed to his secretary. It's a  fascinating tale of logic, drama and the society in its most real perspective. This is a thriller you would not want to miss. 

The Prince - Nicholas Machiavelli

One of the most translated Italian books, Machiavelli could be loosely seen as the Chanakya of medieval Italy. In a desperate bid to gain political favour, Machiavelli describes practical requirements of leadership sans all morality. Far ahead of its times, it describes why the global leaders acquire technologies, why good leaders have good reputation even if they have to do a task that is not palatable. This is a fascinating read for insights into human psychology.

Now there is a book store in my college and I have to go see if my list is to be edited later :)

The Necessary Evil of Validation

We are fundamentally social creatures. It is one of the reasons social media sites have exploded in the last decade. We love to air our opinions, have conversations, know what everyone is up to and what not.

Our education system, our friends, our jobs all revolve in a realm of competition where you are consciously or unconsciously compared. Our work, our actions, our very thoughts are deeply impacted by what others perceive us to be, whether those perceptions are voiced or not.

On another level, it is sad we have evolved thus. In ancient hunter gatherer days, isolation from society meant certain death. Hence, the lack of validation from peers instantiate the same fear mechanisms that we have for physical obstacles.

When I was younger, it was much easier to receive that validation. Thus, without my knowledge, I became addicted to that sense of smugness that validation brought. As I grew older, the sources of validation became scarcer. Naturally, like any addict, I sought it more aggressively. Then, the voices became feebler and slowly tapered down to nothing.

I had made validation a metric of my progress in life and that ruined me. Then something in my head clicked. It was like a tiny twinkling of a star on a new moon night. I did not like myself. To escape that feeling, I yearned to hear someone else say that they appreciate my existence. The root of my problem, was that I did not fulfill the expectations of myself, not anyone else's.

I need validation. Because, after food, clothing and shelter, I entered into another tier of needs. A sense of purpose. That purpose was partially fuelled by validation. I just changed the source where I went to seek for it. The only effective method to achieve peace from validation is self-validation. No one, not the ones closest to me, not the ones who've been the longest with me, know my vision, know my story. I do not have the luxury of hating myself, because I have just the one soul. So I resolved to work with what I have, and celebrate it. Because I found, it's not that bad after all :)

Ma

When the demon Mahisha wreaked havoc on heaven and earth,
emboldened by a boon that he thought made him invincible,
when every being believed destroying him would be an enigma,
little did he imagine he would be vanquished by the majestic
Goddess Durga riding a lion into battle. I salute you, Ma.

Today's young woman swims through a society's judgements,
pursues her dreams in spite of all the manifest obstacles,
trudges on with her bravery through every dilemma,
stands up for herself and surprises the very earth from which
she sprung. A Goddess herself. I salute you, Ma.

The Devas and Asuras fought over you while churning
the ocean of milk, Goddess Lakshmi showed us how fleeting
material prosperity is and saw through the cosmic drama,
and travelled to the abode of the one person
who saw through the Maya, Vishnu. I salute you, Ma.

For a few centuries now, her work was not economic.
Respected if a Goddess operated within a line, she depended
on father, husband and son. Today, in a sweet moment of karma,
she embraced her hidden talents and can support
all three of them with her prosperity. I salute you, Ma.

The serene Goddess Saraswathi cannot be described by words,
as she is the bestower of words herself! The mother of learning,
art, the veena maestro, the one with the subtle charisma,
the envy of the world and the embodiment of everything
pristine, her blessings are most sought. I salute you, Ma.

While intelligence has always been an individual trait,
today's Goddess can participate in the highest echelons
of learning. She has realized the value of the dogma
of Ardhanareeshwara and is utilizing the yin and the yang
to make our society a better place. I salute you, Ma.

The Horror that was 9/11

I was nearly 10 years old when I noticed the hushed tones of my parents and grandparents. They were glued to the televised news. A plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers.

My grandmother was frantically calling my uncle to inquire whether he was fine. Relatives were telling that they were safe. One of them had a meeting scheduled for later, a meeting that never took place. The towering structures were no more by that time.

By some childish curiosity and horror, I was watching the news silently. When the second plane hit the other tower, I yelped in surprise. It was a dark, obsessive compulsion to keep watching. As the flames spread, there was something in me praying for a miracle. At that age, I didn't have a notion of countries or any division. They were people trapped in a collapsing fiery nightmare. And that unsettled me immensely. When the first tower crashed, I was hoping, praying, somehow that the other one would be miraculously saved.

News started pouring in, of innumerable brave stories, of near escapes and tragic encounters. The story of Flight 93 was so touching, so brave and so unfathomable. Just like the story of Neerja, so many real people sacrificed themselves to save others.It was the first time I had heard the word "terrorism". At that moment, it had succeeded. It filled the ten year old, hundreds of miles away, with fear. I devoured any information related to it.  One distinct memory I have is the haunting image of steel scraps bent beyond measure.

We live in a world which is under siege by many natural disasters - and we seem to be creating more devastating ones by our apathy to climate change. In spite of all this, human beings are deadly. Any form of hatred or violence stems from resentment. Resentment from inequality, resentment from mistreatment - both real and perceived. If we spent less time filling heads with facts and figures and more time in empathy, friendship, love, compassion, humility and the ability to differ and still respect people genuinely - perhaps we'd have better peers, parents, teachers, society and governance. The world is so rich that there should be no poverty and we have enough food that there ought not to be hunger. Yet, power and privilege rule today's capitalist society.

This was just a general comment. What can I personally do? Try and be a little more empathetic and add to the love in the world. All is not lost. There are countless compassionate souls working for the betterment of society. News, unfortunately, is associated with things that went wrong that we do not know the good deeds done by others. Yet we know the latest controversy, suicide, murder, attack and all other macabre things happening.

With Gandhiji's birthday coming up, I am reminded of what he said - the heart that can be taught to hate, can be taught to love much more readily. I've paraphrased it. If I Googled it, it would become yet another "statement of purpose" I helped write ;)

All About Teachers

Today is 5th September - traditionally celebrated as Teacher's Day in India. We cut a cake in our lab and that pushed me off the precipice and plunged me into pleasant memories.

Our first teachers are our parents. It's from them we learn language, life skills and even learning. I'm blessed to have had parents who never tired of my curiosity nor did they snuff it out.

I was also extremely fortunate to have wonderful teachers throughout my school life. It would be a grave injustice to any of them if I started naming them, because there were so many. For me, marks were a consequence of my thirst for knowledge. It was much later that I realized the flaws of the education system and how much of rote learning existed. My style of learning is such that I take a very long time to understand a particular concept but once I do, I do not forget the basis of it. Every student has a particular bias towards learning - some are visual learners, some are auditory, some are kinaesthetic, some are a combination of all the three and the best teachers have something for everyone.

Flashes of few memories do beg for my attention. There was a teacher in my fifth grade who assigned me to take tuition for a boy. She would let me not pay attention in class and prepare notes and questions for him. When he got full marks, I was the happiest sun beam on this planet. My mother would applaud my will power when I wrote exams through asthma attacks. It taught me a certain amount of grit. A cheeky disproving of my parents' understanding of eclipses are caused by shadows also resurfaces. I loved every subject from history to physics. That was only possible because I studied under teachers who taught us as stories and not as things we had to remember. In some sense, the story teller emerged as an amalgam of my experiences with my teachers. A teacher helped me overcome my stage fear by pushing me on stage at every conceivable opportunity. Ironically, a teacher's insult of my English catapulted my language skills into another realm and I thank her from the bottom of my heart as well. A teacher really close to my heart dragged me from the depth of depression and made me achieve my dreams.

Ever since I was a child, I wanted to be a teacher. Initially it was because I knew only three careers - engineer, doctor, teacher. A doctor seemed too demanding. An engineer seemed too boring. A teacher seemed exciting. As I grew up, I became more convinced I wanted to be a teacher. For me, it began with clearing doubts. I have seen some glimpses of hope that I may be a good teacher - I won a 'be a prof' event in college, I have dabbled in a few YouTube videos, I have been a teaching assistant with so much of soul satisfaction. I come from a family of teachers on both my mother's and my father's side, so I hope there is some genetic help as well. At the outset I did not realise it, but a teacher's job is as responsibly and morally demanding as that of a doctor. A doctor may save your life but a teacher teaches you to live it.

The Period Leave Debate

So as I start typing this blog, my mind is going -
Do you really want to type this out? What will "aunty" say?

Well I've disappointed many aunties in my life, so no harm done I say :D

The case: There have been many discussions going round on social media about a period leave policy which basically states that a woman can optionally take a day off on the first day of her period.

For: First of all, it's nice that nobody is sweeping discussions around menstruation under the carpet and talking openly. Secondly, for many women, the first day of the period is notoriously uncomfortable. It is nice to give them a dignified holiday, rather than forcing them to take a sick leave. This is because you are acknowledging that the woman is healthy and that it is her time of maintenance.

Against: Women have fought to fight in armies. They have come a long way in their fight to equality. Why should they need some frilly privileges about an obscure discomfort that happens so rarely? Doesn't it make a woman appear weaker in comparison to a man? It is already hard for a woman to get a job - she is judged whether she is married, pregnant, will have children, has small children. Why do we need to add a corporate HR approved reason?

I am for the leave policy. Even if I were to rationally put aside the fact that I would be a beneficiary, I find it to be a good idea. There are two categories of reasons why people oppose it - one is the fear of losing opportunities and the second is ignorance.

As mentioned, a woman gets into the workforce after a lot of preconceived notions that may be acted upon. So rest assured, that the woman who stays will be an ambitious one - an asset to the company. The leave will be optional - she would not leave a meeting for this. But on a lean day, she may prefer the rest. 12 days a year is 24 half days. For all you know, women might be using their sick days for this alone. Hence, as an astute company looking for pure talent will not lose out. In fact, by letting your ladies have the option of resting, they would be much more efficient the remaining days.

Ignorance is that many people do not know how debilitating it is for a large chunk of women. As it is considered shameful to talk about periods, talking about pain is a bigger taboo. It is supposed to be hidden, non-existent - so how will anyone - even other women - know what some healthy women suffer during their periods?

At the bare implementation level, I really don't care if this policy comes through or not. In terms of benefits, I might as well use my sick leave. I've met women who bring their baby to a meeting and everyone agrees because they are indispensable. I believe men and women are different but men and women are equal. Both of them perform tasks differently - there is no right or wrong way. There are countless number of women who have broken the glass ceiling. This policy is not going to make a difference. But it is encouraging to note that people are talking about this vocally.

I do not think this provision makes a woman appear weak. For the well trained mind - a day of rest during a period gives time for a woman to re-equip herself. Don't you think we ought to give her that choice considering it is but a small down time for a system that is responsible for significantly perpetuating the human race?

The Price of Perfection

It's no big secret that I am a perfectionist. I'm driven by results and I'm stubborn until I get it. I get complimented many a times for being a dedicated and hard-working person.

But is perfectionism good?

To answer this question, I felt it is pertinent to analyse the reasons that watered this certain characteristic in me. I feel our education system has made me ruthlessly competitive. Over the years, the social approval that came associated with academic success fueled my desire to study hard. I enjoyed the process and everything was rosy and nice.

However this came with its drawbacks that I have been noticing only lately. This attitude came with subtle messages that I did not realize even existed. It has sowed tendrils of doubt and a deep fear of failure. I treated failure as an obstacle that is to be quickly crossed by redoubling effort. It had strongly bound my happiness to quantifiable success. If not quantifiable, at least by the approval of others.

There came a moment in my life where the Universe I carefully constructed with hard work came crashing down like a pack of cards. The societal approval disappeared, the results evaporated and all my efforts were in vain. I could feel the haunting fear in the pit of my tummy that failure was imminent. I increased my efforts so much that it bordered on desperation. I learned later that there is some wisdom in the phrase "haste makes waste".

Soon, in every facet of my life I was facing failure, be it personal or professional. As far as the eye could see, there was only darkness. Who am I, if not for my results? What do I believe in?

I was struck by an identity crisis so clear that I felt like a bleak helpless baby once again.

Thankfully, in the 21st century, every individual has a lot of tools to help themselves. I'm grateful to my friends, family and the Internet for pulling me through. I don't see the light yet but I feel I'm getting there.

Part of the healing comes with the acceptance. This blog post is my way of accepting my flaws and working with them.

Perfectionism is not bad as such. Without it, I would not be where I am today. However, when it developed low self-esteem and the craving for validation due to external mismatches of expectation, it became a monster that devoured me.

So next time I see failure approaching me, I will not bulldoze it with hard work. I will face it, bite the bullet and learn from it. My life is not a statistic. When life is firing cannon balls at me, it's better to build an armour of self love than let it batter my soul.

Dedicated to every lip biting perfectionist out there - you are enough :)

For the Love of Me

"What is emotional branding?", the voice of the instructor thundered across the class. The glint of her immaculately starched saree in the brightly lit room caught Lavanya's eye. "What an oxymoron", she thought. How could marketing ever be emotional? There is no ethics in business. A business exists to sell itself. A detached voice describing something "emotional" in an austere manner did nothing to impress her about the topic.

As this seemed to be the buzz in marketing, she thought she should take her training seriously. But her scepticism got the better of her. How can one be forced to be emotional to cater to making money? This form of marketing seemed to rely on poetry that cannot be commanded.

Lavanya's position in the company wasn't great and she knew it. She had to pull off the hair-oil commercial as soon and as effectively as possible. What could make her pitch stand out?

There are few typical ads that the brand already had - the dramatic visualisation of hair and the promise of spectacular results(with appropriate disclaimers in fine text as well). What could she possibly do to impress them? What would make their brand linger?

She contemplated stressing on the the minimal use of chemicals. Perhaps that would appeal to a wider audience.

As these thoughts had strayed into Lavanya's mind, the instructor was sternly looking at her, though she was oblivious to it. After a few goosebumps, Lavanya jumped out of her reverie and pretended to take notes.

After the session, she stepped out of her glass prison for a break. She hated her work. She was tired of failing every pitch. As she walked into the canteen, she was flooded with offers for Valentine's day. As if she needed anything else to ruin her day! Married to a job she did not love, she had no time for relationships.

She moodily bought her food and sat alone in a corner. In this consumerist era, how could she pitch an ad that connected with someone? She herself was so irritable that it seemed impossible that she had the capacity to make any other person happy, let alone millions of viewers.

A curl of hair fell on the table. No matter how disconnected she was with fashion, hair was her weakness. If at all anyone can pitch an ad for hair oil, it had to be her. When she was a child, her biggest nightmare was to wake up with no hair.

Perhaps it was the nourishment that was firing her brain cells. She thought about how superficial society had made her feel about hair. The fact that the loss of hair was something mortifying seemed laughable logically.

She finished her solitary meal and walked to the wash-basins. As she caught herself in the mirror, she couldn't help sighing at the sight of her new hair-cut. It was supposed to give her confidence but it changed nothing about how she felt about herself.

Confidence. There is so much of beauty in confidence and self-love. She had grown old with fear and disappointment. What would she not do to be the happy and cheerful person she was a few months ago?

Confidence. For centuries, women have been sold upon the idea that looks equal confidence. Lavanya knew that wasn't true. How could she use her ad to make someone feel confident?

And suddenly, the story line for the ad came in one glorious moment of inspiration. What if she confronted her fears, took away the superficial and came up with an idea that oozed with confidence? What if someone could feel good and hopeful seeing her ad? She was nervous about the idea but she felt some inkling of hope. She started liking herself more for coming up with the idea.

Thus, she came up with an ad about a cancer survivor who returns to work, bald and proud. Her own insecurities helped her come up with an endearing screenplay that helped her win the pitch. It helped her regain her confidence little by little and love what she does to the best of her conscience. So this Valentine's day, she realised she has begun falling in love again - with herself!

***

This post was written for Chennai Bloggers Club February Contest in association with woodooz and Indian Superheroes. I was paired with marketing tech professional - Subhashini who wrote the technical details of marketing here. Go watch the ads there! 

The Story of how I Began Cooking

I find someone's views on cooking to be the litmus test of whether I can see eye-to-eye with a person or not. For example, a very good friend of mine commented that he found it odd that a group of female room-mates had a cook. I was speechless. I'm not going to bother arguing that statement because what is wrong with that is absolutely apparent. So every time some one asks me whether I know how to cook, I always say no because it makes the conversation much more interesting :)

I contemplated long and hard whether to write this post :P

I was addicted to packet soups and noodles. Nearly every day I used to have them. Obviously, that did not bode well with my health. I developed a stone in each kidney when I was 21.

After that, there was a blanket ban on any of these "instant" items.

But, winter was coming.

I tried. I made do with rasam for a while. Sometimes, just hot water. But I was an addict. I was having withdrawal symptoms. Something had to be done fast :P

So, I swallowed my pride. And I asked my mother to make a soup from scratch.

This led to an hour long monologue where my ungratefulness over two decades was stressed. It ended with the usual statement referring to the fact that my age is that of four donkeys.

With no other option left, I wrestled my ego and placed my right foot inside the kitchen. With a smart-phone connected to YouTube, I attempted to make an onion soup.

The searches were so contrived.

Chop onions finely.
How to chop onions finely?
Saute onions till translucent.
What does saute mean?

After half an hour, I tested it on my family for possible poisoning. To my complete amazement, they liked it. Or at least pretended to. I started dusting the china at home and taking out soup bowls that my parents hadn't used since their wedding.

Then, there has been no turning back. Soups, pastas, appetisers and anything I don't get at home were experimented and burnt and re-attempted and arranged beautifully for photos on Instagram.

Because that's what's important isn't it?

In conclusion, cooking isn't a big deal. The trick is in the recipe. There is no magic secret that you need to know. If you love to eat, you'll love to cook as well :)

This post was inspired by my weekend experiment to make potato chips at home.

P.S. To those of the unlikely people interested in the recipe that's available everywhere on the Internet, you cut potatoes very thinly, keep them in water for at least half an hour and then dry them thoroughly and fry. I microwaved them.

I am Engaged to Myself First

Today my blog turns 7 years old :)

I was 18 when I started blogging. I cannot believe how much I have transformed over these years. But I am learning every day and I thought the best way to look forward is to make a few resolutions and hope my constant companion, writing, is at my side and helps me fulfil them.

#1 Know that I am enough

Though my anxiety and over-thinking has helped me strive towards perfection, it has also magnified my failures out of proportion and has caused my self-confidence and self-esteem to plummet. I have been raised in a world where competition, results, numbers and conformance make sense and failing to achieve these seem to make my existence meaningless. This year I promise to breathe deeply, work hard and not be attached to the result as the scriptures say.

#2 Be Happy

I am not a happy person. Content, yes, happy, no. Who knows how long I am going to be on this planet? I vow to be happy every single day, sing, dance, write and shout off roof tops that I am alive. Of course, I'm going to be sad, angry, hurt, disgusted, pitiful but I will not let my eyelids close without reaching peace on my own terms.

#3 Hope

When despair, doubt and darkness permeate every inch of your surroundings, the survival of hope is endangered. In my true obsessive, possessive style, I shall hold on to it.

#4 Accept Myself

The previous year I was committed to being myself, to not be as docile as I was before. However I forgot that with that, acceptance of who I am is also required. I have messed up and the perfectionist in me loathes those parts of my life. While I thought that forgiving others would be the biggest battle, I was wrong. The biggest battle is forgiving myself.

#5 Be Engaged to Myself

I promise to talk to myself everyday, analyse what I've learned and grow a little bit. Everyday. I promise to listen to my fears and inhibitions. I promise to rejoice the small victories. I promise to not seek validation for my existence because in reality, we are all alone first and then we share society. Because I cannot truly complete society until I am complete on my own.

This post was inspired by a lot of things, but mainly an article I read on why women are wearing an engagement ring on their pinky finger to signify that they are engaged to themselves. While the sentiment is admirable, I do think it's a marketing ploy to ensnare single women :P

Advance happy new year, let's rejoice and grow together. :)

The Journey of a 100 blogposts begins with a Single Word

When Chennai Bloggers Club (CBC) announced a blogging competition on the topic how blogging has transformed me, I couldn’t help but smile.

I started blogging in 2009. I cannot believe that seven years have passed since I typed the very first word. I’ve already written about how I took the baby steps into the realm of blogging.

In this story, I shall dive into my ocean of memories and present to you the jewels I have gained in this wonderful journey.

I joined college in 2009. As an engineering student, I realised my days of writing are numbered and my thoughts were itching to be cast into the written form. Fortunately for me, I was introduced to the convenient mode of blogging.

When I began, I didn’t expect it to be read by anyone. I expected my blog to be a literal translation of “web log”, a public diary that will be perused by me and perhaps a few others at most.

Over the years, the storyteller in me became quite ambitious. My keyboard has hummed across a growing range of topics. Today, I was surprised to see a 102 blog posts. I am not a regular blogger. In a typical Libran fashion, sometimes I blog every week to perhaps once in every four months. In spite of that irregularity, I felt happy and blessed to have created this digital content that has forever marked my evolution as a writer and more importantly as a person.

Emotional Stability

When I write, there is no judgement. There is no fear of someone cutting your thoughts in short. Emotions empty easily into text. There may be comments, but that comes later on. A blog post that is completed is a medium for release and an exercise of tranquillity.

An Archive of Memories

While I may be blessed with photographic memory, I am going to age and memory does fade with time. A blog post behaves as a duster that removes the cobwebs from a glass door that is an entrance to a particular incident.

A Window to Who I Am

No matter how articulate I am in person, my blog posts tell the reader of an entire journey. While a person who just met me might know who I am today, a person who has read my blog will know why I am who I am.

An Opportunity to Share

Sometimes my blog posts have motivated discussions on social media and brought about different perspectives that have taught me about the world and how people think.

A Box of Chocolates

My blog is really a box of chocolates. You will love some posts. You will not agree with some. You will fondly recollect some. (I have added a “Search” feature to aid that purpose :) ). I’m confident that it will leave any reader with an impression, be it good and or bad and that gives me immense satisfaction.

In conclusion, blogging has made me content, honest and happy. It has made me eligible to participate in a forum like The Chennai Bloggers Club. It is such a fulfilling task to look back at what I have gained and what I have become. Even if it is in the nick of time, I’m happy to participate in this collaboration between Sweek and CBC. #chennaibloggers #autobiography

And yes, this post won the competition ;)

Book Review : Untitled by Gayathri Prabhu

A random purchase based on no recommendation or inclination, "Untitled" became yet another book to make itself home in my bookcase.

I had also bought "To Kill a Mockingbird" earlier and was planning to write a book review on that. As masterful as that book is, the whole world knows about it. This book on the other hand lit the wick of my imagination much like the embers in the lamps of the house of Wodeyar women.

This is a historical fiction set in the times of Tipu Sultan. The protagonists are two painters - Richard, an English artist and a Brahmin boy Mukunda who is drawn to art rather than the art of reading planetary movements.

The author beautifully brings out the many facets of Tipu Sultan - the ruler, the strategist, the merciless and the merciful. The book moves at a fast pace. From Richard's arrival in Madras to his reception in Srirangapatinam, we learn of the turmoil he faces. India, like it was for many Englishmen, was his coming of age story.

We also get a glimpse of the society's rebel - Mukunda. As the son of an astrologer, one expects him to docilely comply with the promptings of fate. But here is a boy who believed destiny was his own making.

My favourite character is Suhasini, the dark daughter of a fair priest, her intelligence knew no bounds. She is cunning, manipulative and charming. Her strong personality comes to life with the author's choice of words. She becomes the trusted informant of the Wodeyar Queen who was imprisoned. 

The book is replete with historically accurate information. It truly transports the reader to another time. An era where the king relied on both strategy and astrology. An era where Indians were not yet viewed with the loathing that will come after the First War of Indian Independence in 1857. An era where communication could take months. 

Yet, some things were timeless. The earnest will of the soul to not conform be it Richard, Mukunda or Suhasini. The absorbing nature of passion and art. The fact that there are no real victors in a war. The fact that humans can become animals when there is nothing to lose and there is no accountability.

This book is worth your time. The prose is almost poetic. If I had to find a flaw, I'd say I found it unbelievable that all the main characters had such a fine instinct about the uncertain future.

The subject is close to my heart. A trip to Mysore had prompted me to churn out this historical fiction. I felt like I visited the same places, but in another time. Do buy this book :)

How an Introvert behaves with Guests

Happy Deepavali to one and all :)

As much as I enjoy good food and positive vibes, dealing with people on festivals is not my cup of Horlicks.

Now I know there will be some people going how ungrateful I am as a human being to make fun of my family. Time for a defence that such people are not going to accept anyway. You can only make fun of the people you love :)

#1 The Awkward Smile

Here's the thing. Just because I don't talk doesn't mean I don't observe. Also, because I'm not talking, it means I have over-analysed every detail. So if you're going to say something smart/cheeky/cunning, I will know it and I will have a super sarcastic answer for it. But the fear of falling into disgrace checks my tongue and lo and behold - the awkward smile.

"You washed you hair?"
The clearly wet hair that the owner gave up de-tangling which looks like a cuckoo's nest curls in further fright.

"You're already 25"?
Yes my eternally 16 aunt.

#2 Lowering Expectation

Sometimes I'm not careful enough. Sometimes I make eye contact with fellow human beings who cannot comprehend the state of my existence. I learned this trick from my sister that when you feel backed into a corner and in pressure - always lower expectations.

"You won't study after this?"
I don't even have one journal paper. If I want to be a good professor, I need more publications so I am thinking of doing a post-doc.

*Total Silence*

#3 The Genuine Fake Smile

This is very different from the awkward smile. The genuine fake smile occurs when you are smiling at a completely different scenario but the listener thinks you're smiling because you accepted their unsolicited advice.

For example, a person keeps complaining about the lack of freedom by her elders. She then proceeds to advice me on something. And says she would never allow her son's wife to behave the way I did.

I smile at the hypocrisy, she smiles at her liberal doling of punyam.

#4 The Disappearing Act

Suddenly adults and children will begin to congregate into groups. As I am neither old enough to be an adult because I'm single and not young enough to be a kid because I've finished college, I stealthily creep into a room and sleep.

Once again, this was all for fun. Who knows how judgemental I will be when I am old! Let's hope we remember these annoyances and try to make life easier for the next generation ;)

The Day Kabali Released

July 22 2016 was a much awaited day for the the Tamil film fandom. However, that date is etched in my memory because it was when my maternal grandfather passed away.

He had been battling cancer for the past one year showing enormous willpower, through two surgeries. He had been living with us for the past few months. Echoes of his footsteps across the house, the image of him seeing TV, the smile that floated across his eyes even after a portion of his jaw was restructured keep swirling in a mixed haze.

He had been rushed into emergency quite a few times. I thought that Friday was just the same. By evening six thirty, I learned he was no more. Even though I knew he was in the fourth stage of cancer and I knew this was inevitable, the situation was a shock. It was not in the middle of a surgery or something so grave, I feel like his cancer spread instantly and suddenly.

The first feeling I felt was guilt. Should we have gone to hospital earlier? Should we have been more mindful of his needs? It was slowly replaced by a deep sense of loss. Were there anything else I would've said? I usually go home on weekends. On a whim, I went home on a Thursday. I feel as if it was to talk to him one last time.

I then started feeling anger. The day before, the doctor had informed my grandfather he was critically ill. Until then, he always had hope. I blamed the doctor initially and especially because all his other parameters were normal. It took some time for my sense of fairness to kick in that even if the mental factor is there, the illness was bad too.

My mother was inconsolable as she was holding his hand and literally felt his breath fade away.

In this chaotic turmoil, I felt three emotions surge - love, pride and a bit of equanimity. The love was because apart from the pain of the loss, I felt such acute pain for the people who were crying, the people I cared deeply, my mom and my grandmother especially.

I felt pride as I saw the positive aspects of my grandfather's life shine.

The equanimity stepped in when the reality of death solidified.

My tears refused to leave my eyes. To me, an honest inspection of emotions comes naturally through writing than tears.

It hasn't always been like this. For the past two years, I've been flying off the handle, crying every other day for some reason or the other. Yet, something as grave as this left me in shock. And instilled a bit of courage also I guess.

My grandfather read everything I wrote and published and complimented everything to my delight. I've always considered my near photographic memory a bane, but now as I can see the scene in 1080p, I feel blessed.

My grandfather was born on August 23, 1941. Like all Leos, he could be exemplified as a man who always did things his way.

He was born in Burma and was smuggled to Chennai when Japan invaded Burma during the Second World War. His life story could be right out of a movie. His grandfather was a barrister who studied in Cambridge, a story that many question. Anyway, he remembered a trip later on SS Rajula where he loved the taste of rasam and dry fish.

Confronted by poverty, he joined the Indian Air Force in the hope of square meals at the age of 19. His extraordinary physique helped him succeed there. He won several national level awards in swimming and had confronted many wild currents. He was first posted in Bangalore and then in several states of North India. My grandmother recalls several air raids in Chandigarh where houses would be covered in black out paper. My mother speaks Hindi fluently having had to struggle through Hindi medium schools at time. She recalls Tezpur in Assam and Chandigarh. My grandfather reminisced how there used to be quarters where there was only a single dry latrine and he'd take my mother a long distance every day for her to use the single functioning toilet. My mother and grandmother told me how proud they felt when they saw my grandfather marching with his comrades on Republic Day at Delhi.

He got his AMIE in electrical engineering and then retired at the age of 35 and settled in Chennai. He joined his brother in a business that floundered after a few years. At this age, he realised his skill set was woefully inadequate for the job market. Trying his luck he went to Singapore. He earned well and was active. Apart from being a manager, he did a lot of quirky things, a clerk, a newspaper man, what not!

His work also took him to a lot of Middle Eastern nations like Qatar and Saudi Arabia. My mother says their family used to eagerly await the postman for letters that would arrive 15 days late.

He was in Kuwait when Saddam Hussein's occupation occurred. Three months after my parents wedding, on Aug 2, all forms of communication were severed. My grandfather drove from Kuwait to Amman, Jordan on his Landcruiser, a journey of 1200kms. He then sold his car and took a flight to Bombay, then took a train to Chennai and finally a cab to our house. He landed at our house on August 23, exactly on his birthday.

My father remembers in awe when my grandfather once jumped onto a sunshade one storey high and then opened the door when he found it locked. This was when he was 50 years old. Patience was not his virtue.

Before the war, he was extremely rich. Relatives still say how lavishly he conducted the wedding and showered his first grandchild, me, with innumerable gifts. A year or two after the war, again he was left with nothing. This time he was in extreme depression. After that, military pensions were revised and he had an income from his Air Force career.

That was the peculiarity of his life, it always oscillated between extreme success and abject misery. He was definitely far from perfect. He was honest but highly impatient. Knowing him, he'd have wanted me to write about his flaws as well. He took his health for granted as he could never recollect falling sick. He loved to project himself as an important person. When I had a formality in admissions, he contemptuously claimed the college is gifted to have me and I wanted to just sink into the floor. Sometimes, he has been extremely rude because of his impatience when things don't go his way and has hurt many people, even within his family.

On the positive side, he had a huge group of diverse friends, could become friends with anyone. He was really generous. He loved him wife a lot. In his day and age, he said horoscopes are useless and proved that if you love someone, you'll stick by them. It was an arranged marriage but without any horoscope matching. Even in his last days, he used to remind my grandmother to put her eye drops and I used to tease him the sometimes I wonder who is the patient.

After that, he visited my uncle in US a couple of times and then sold his house in Thiruvanmiyur and built one in Velachery when I was 14 years old. I wore a half saree for the first time during the house warming and I had this thick curly long plait. Seeing that he used to call me இளவரசி, meaning princess. It was because of my grandparents, I've retained my messy hair for that sentiment.

That was the house we had the funeral.

I felt it was a good time to be single. For the first time, I yearned for a companion to rest my anguish. Apart from a few initial messages, I hadn't opened up entirely to anyone, waiting to be there for people in much more grief. I felt good knowing my grandfather never knew I was crying unstably, he only heard me giving him hope earnestly. I realised most of the reason I was crying was a sign of hopelessness. It was unsettling for me. I was not the type to cry that way. I don't think crying is weakness but chronic crying is definitely something to be looked into. Facing my loss on my own, has made me so strong overnight, that I feel I'm finally out of it.

I will miss you thatha, but I will cling onto the memories dearly. Your இளவரசி is back, stronger than ever before.

Coaching Classes : Boon or Bane?

Having attended a large number of coaching classes in high school, I feel qualified to write about this. Throughout my school life, it was a very touchy subject. Schools prided on being self-sufficient and looked down on students who went to coaching classes. Many peers did not respect me and assumed that whatever brilliance I exhibited was from prior knowledge from these classes. Relatives felt I was so stupid that I required coaching. Despite all this, why do students attend coaching classes and is it useful at all?

This is from my personal experience, my views cannot be generalised to any class. There is an ocean of difference between the quality of classes.

#1 Peer Pressure

This is the No.1 reason for me attending coaching classes in 9th grade. My parents felt I was losing out on an edge that some of my peers may have. Initially, I was disgruntled. I was not some idiot who required coaching. But when I joined there, I loved it. I made lasting friendships. I was a painfully shy and quiet kid. I doubt I learned anything useful but I enjoyed the company.

#2 The Difference in Syllabus

This I felt at the end of 10th grade. When I attempted to solve previous JEE papers, I was at a clear loss. There is a humongous leap from 10th syllabus to 11th. And the gap is even more prominent with entrance exams. So, I applied for many IIT-JEE coaching institutes. I could not afford half of them. Then, at a tradeoff between quality and cost, I settled at the best option available to me. Even the coaching classes had an entrance exam! Very soon, there'll be coaching classes for those entrances :P

#3 School vs. Coaching

This is where the crux of the issue lies I feel. Most school teachers concentrate on completing the syllabus and most coaching classes concentrate on clearing ranks. Amidst these crazy races, the central goal of learning, the concept, is lost. Again, this is a sweeping generalization as I am going to list a few exceptions below. It is not particularly anybody's fault. As a result oriented society, working in a limited time-frame, say 2-4 years, we are fanatic about achieving a goal and these are the paths available to them.

#4 Engaging Children

With working parents and distracted teenagers, coaching classes became puddles of guaranteed concenration. It has become a teenager creche if I may go as far as that. Like I mentioned before, I made a lot of meaningful friendships, sometimes with those professors themselves!

#5 Small Sizes

Since a lot of school teachers do not to take subjects to a required depth, many coaching classes thrive. I found this to be particularly true for Physics. I fell in love with the subject at coaching classes. Once again, I'm emphasizing that school teachers are not to blame. As they have a class of students with varying abilities and interest, more often than not, they have to pander to the lowest common denominator.

The Million Dollar Question: Did these classes help?

First, let me list the classes I went for. Ninth and Tenth standard, I went for coaching in Science and Math, It was mostly concept oriented. I remember he used to make fun of my teachers for making mistakes and I used to pounce on him and defend them. Simply because the complaints he picked up were from students who were not paying attention to my teachers in the first place :P I liked going there, it was light, funny and in words of another coaching prof, "Intellectual Entertainment". I felt like it was brain exercise. Plus, I was an insufferable know-it-all at that time, it was fun :P Both, to be made fun of and to be myself :D In 11th I went for IIT Coaching. That was when I fell in love with Physics. I could not cope with the strenuous hours. I quit mid-way but continued learning Organic Chemistry. Then, in 12th I went to three coaching classes, Math, Physics and Chemistry. I dropped out of chemistry in 2-3 months. My math mam became a very good friend, she used to  find mistakes in questions where my answers were correct, something I had not experienced before. She used to call them compensating errors. Last but definitely not the least, I am indebted lifelong to that Physics coaching sir. What was previously a love for Physics, he made me win her hand. He instilled so much confidence in me and sharpened my skills.

I do not know how much they contributed individually. If I had not gone for any of these coaching, I would not have got into a premier institute.  Collectively, for me, they worked. That is because I love to study. I think if you are invested in these classes and have a yearning to learn new things, it's a boon. If you go there because your parents or friends told you so, it's a bane. I could not gain this expertise in school. Why that is, is not completely clear to me. I have a hunch it is because we have large classrooms and less teachers that we cannot get as much individual attention as we deserve.

Any Drawbacks?

The first time I thought my life was meaningless, I was 16. The tremendous pressure to achieve is something no child should have to undergo. I do not think coaching classes are to blame per se. If the teaching methodologies come together, such that if you put effort in school, you can achieve the results you desire, nothing would be better than that. Many students coach weak students after school. If you coach students at the other end of the spectrum as well, that would be awesome. That was the irony of the situation. Most people think that the lives of students like me who enjoy studying are rosy and set. It is very difficult to fathom how rocky their roads are.

Musings

I didn't go for any coaching during college. College syllabus was quite self contained. I felt the difficulty level was 10% of what I needed to understand in school. I qualified in GATE as well without coaching. I didn't score a great rank but just qualified. I went for CAT coaching and that was a complete unexpected disaster, Thankfully. I think after that kind of effort at schhol, studying just became easy.

Would I put my kids in coaching classes?

I wouldn't because I'd be one hell of a teacher for them ;)

Also, this post is based on a conversation when me and my friend were discussing we should start a coaching class in case we don't graduate :P