Hues.

Your fingers deftly open the tiny paint bottles, and you peek into a glossy world within. You are completely new to this, my love, and you cannot help but feel a certain awe. Carefully, you touch the surface and soft to your very touch, you dabble with the many hues. I see a child like glee on your face as your slender fingers trace many shapes on the off white and blemish-free canvas, so blank and full of possibilities. Your mind races through so many scenarios, your imagination has taken wings. You paint me carefully, your face scrunched up in concentration and you make clean strokes at first. But the strokes get smudged and less sharper as you continue. At one point, you are nearly about to pick up the easel and hurl it at the wall. Those carefully mixed colors, that glee-they all give away when you have your first of the many moments of frustration. Pause a moment, love, and take a look through this kaleidoscope I present myself as.

I paint myself pink when the transient moments we share are a burst of energy and endless laughter, when everything seems perfect. When I feel ignored and helpless, chock full of self pity and salty, suppressed tears-I paint myself an icy blue. When your affections beams down on me rays of sunshine, I paint myself yellow. When I feel non-attachment, the shroud of emotions that clung to me like wet and stiff denim lifted away from my frail shoulders, I paint myself white. When I talk to you, I am a palette of colors, an amalgam of unbridled emotions. But when the going gets tough, the urge to become a black hole gets stronger-I feel the pain stretch boundless, taut and infinite. Because even though you paint me like a vision of vivacity, a feverish dream- you forget that I am but the palette holding all these paints within me. Worn out and warm at the cockles, your fingers only dip and swirl, dip and draw out where many did the same. There are many faint scratches and dried out blotches that even the most effective cleanser-time-cannot erase. My love, I wish to tell you but one thing- whether the painting gives out or your interest disintegrates, you left your imprint on me. And one day, quiet thoughts will pass through your mind like clouds and you will smile to yourself. My love, you smile because for those fleeting moments, I was a perception, your very own chimera. 

The ex-reporter’s story.

Hello to all reading this, and months have passed since I cracked my knuckles and decided to pen down the various thoughts that have been floating inside my head. And so, I wanted to get down to writing about one important chapter of my life from May to October this year- when I was a journalist for a period of 5 months. I studied journalism for three years only to quit my job after a short period of employment, after I found out that my heart wasn’t there. Fellow reporters may sheepishly smile, thinking I was not cut out to be one among them- the guardians of truth and justice, the individuals who wield their pens and paint reality in its garish entirety. I had bowed down to pressure in just a few months, and was weak. I was disillusioned with not the industry, but myself. I loved reading and writing since a young age, when books made for better companions, and a notebook would be the only object I could express my feelings of angst or general wonder through. It was only natural that I opted for journalism in college while most of my school mates went on to study engineering, but I had never seen it coming. The three years in college were not a breeze, and for the first time in my life, I harbored an inkling of irritation for writing. Put through countless assignments that required me to not be languid but crisp with words, it was agony as I like to be flowery and descriptive with my language. 


Post college- from May to October 2014, was the period where my college education consisting of years of pouring over notes and wasted tears from the stress were disregarded. On the job, it was like learning from scratch and I entered the world of being one among the employed classes. Being a reporter was not easy, as it required me to do the one thing I dreaded- constant communication with strangers. More days were spent travelling on my scooter, a thin layer of dust coating my face after hectic travelling under Chennai’s unrelenting sun. A pen and a small notepad would be ready at hand, with cramped fingers taking down frantic notes and quotes at all times. There were so many moments spent waiting along with my phone, making calls to my sources at all times and numerous top-ups to keep my phone’s talk-time balance from not falling into bankruptcy.  


But there have been good moments too- I met a really good individual who went on to become one of the closest people in my life and who accepted me with all my bluntness in tow. Memories ping in my head, where endless cups of sugary tea and melt-in-the-mouth butter biscuits helped in forming a solid bond with my friend. I learnt that people were not intimidating as I thought they would be if I introduced myself as a journalist and asked for help, and talking to strangers was not as difficult as I thought it would be. I got to interview artists, who were not very well-known but possessed a powerhouse of talent, and attend events that opened up my senses. I learnt to get out of my comfort zone, to accomplish tasks well within deadlines and that I was decent at editing as well as writing.   

But the one greatest lesson I learnt from the job was that it was okay to question choices, like my employment as a journalist. I let go of Pressure and Deadlines, the two devils that hovered and hummed around my shoulders and weighed me down, and improved my language and people skills. I learnt that though the pay was meagre, there were people who took what I wrote seriously- who made me feel like I had brought about a change, however minor it may have been. I gave up the job for a reason- I realised that there are two types of writers- the journalists whose allies are precision and accuracy, to keep information objective and free from any personal touches, and the dreamers with so many ideas, thoughts and emotions floating inside their heads, like balloons waving gently in the air and finding solace in words, expressions full of flourishes. I belong to the latter category, and my short stint as a reporter made me realise that.

I was an insider who stepped out, with no definite plans in the future being foreseen. But I am enjoying the lack of urgency and the leisure at which I can now find out my true calling- I like the view better from here.         

 

And I stopped to smell the roses.

That title must sound very familiar to you, reader. You must have had somebody even tell you this at some point of your life, when you were rushing about to make all your ends meet and were in the frenzy of things. I work as a reporter, and I always sweat the small stuff and hardly ever have time to relax. So, on a Saturday morning when everyone was lazing and lolling about in my house, I was at work. I took a deep breath and thought about the things that could be called the simple pleasures that life showers upon us, materialistic or not. These actions, events and objects, they may be transient but in that moment, they dull life's arduousness. But, you ask me, what are they? And here, I pull out some moments from the recesses of my brain:

RTO Beach, Thiruvanmiyur. This was during noon time, and this calmed my frayed nerves during my license exams. 

The blush of the moon- Elliot's beach, Besant Nagar.

The food that I devoured at Madras Pavilion, ITC Madras. That one night, I forgot to count my calories. 

The chirp of birds early in the morning, signifying the stifling of night's ominous mood, gently brushed aside by the gentle rays of the morning's hand. The curling of your palm around the cup of coffee/tea and the first sip you take that warms your throat. The rustle of newspapers, as your fingers clasp with a certain familiarity the end of the pages, ready to take in whatever news the world has to offer you. The freshness that envelops your body after a bath, when you feel like your worries melted away under the cascading of water over you. The taste of the first bite of food when you are hungry, and the subsequent feeling of pleasure that comes after. The joy of seeing a dog with a wagging tail and a stuck-out tongue, and feeling your mood lift up. The curling up on your bed or on the couch to read your favorite book or magazine, and deeply inhaling the musty smell. The melting of chocolate on your tongue, soft and delicious. Eating toasted bread with pats of butter spread across generously, and feeling like that maybe, heaven does exist. The pitter patter of rains outside your window, and sipping hot beverage and smiling at the coolness that tinges the air. When you see time move quickly while at work, and knowing that the end of the day is not far away. Performing a physical activity, and feeling fit for those fleeting minutes. Your mother's or grandmother's sweets twinkling at you invitingly during festivals. Finding solace in quiet gardens or parks as you let yourself be awed by nature's demure beauty. Finding that item of clothing that is tailor-made for you and well within your budget while shopping. Biting into a pizza and feeling the cheese explode in your mouth, and leaving you aching for more. The brush of flower petals against your skin, and the gentle tickle that feels like the caress of nature. Sitting on the beach as you watch the waves crash upon the sands, and wonder what other mysteries it holds deep within as the salty air tousles your hair. When you are home alone and do whatever you want to, feeling all grown up and responsible. Touching the hair on a baby's head, and smiling at the softness like it has been spun out of clouds and silk. Seeing your article published in the newspaper, magazine or website and feeling a sense of elation coursing through you, and feeling like your life is instantly better. The smile that your first salary brings to your lips, and knowing that you are now financially independent. Lazy weekends, where you just lie on your bed and do nothing and finding a certain calmness in the inactivity. Watching a movie with your family, and sharing popcorn and smiles. The funny joke you come across, and belly-shaking laughter, pink cheeks and happy-tears that follow. Finding that one song or tune that perks you up, and humming it while a smile plays on your lips secretly. Immersing your hand in a bucket of water, and finding an oddly relaxing sensation take over yourself (If you have not tried this, please do not miss it!) Looking at childhood photographs, and realising with a certain twang of pride and nostalgia that the beautiful baby smiling without a care in the world is you. The perfect selfie, and the number of likes that you get on a social media platform, whether you admit to this or not. The wind that sweeps through your hair when you travel in a scooter/bike/car and feeling like you're the hero/heroine in a movie. Doing that one activity that you struggled to do in the past, and finding that it comes so naturally to you now. When someone compliments you unexpectedly, and the happiness that glows pink on your cheeks and lights up your eyes. When you stretch your body after a long day of work, and feel the soreness and tiredness leave. And when your head rests on your pillow and you snuggle under your blanket, you are lulled into sleep by the gentle whirring of the fan and its cool air. You close your eyes and know that maybe, just maybe, if you noticed and dabbled in the small things that are innocent and pleasurable at its very core, life would not seem so difficult. After all, if I stopped and smelt the roses, so can you.

Too bogged down to give a title and all.

Today has been just like the past few days since my last semester of college ended- boring. The only thing I look forward to is going for walks with my cousin sister in the evening, where we pursue fitness and gab nineteen to the dozen. So as I returned home from my evening walk, I get a message saying that the semester exam results are out. I log in to the mostly inaccessible college intranet website smoothly, and view my results. "Hmm, A and above in everything", says my mom with a relaxed look on her face and walks out of the room. I'am by now nonchalant to the whole result frenzy, and just shrug my shoulders at nobody in particular. But something within me is unsettled, something that has been nagging me in the recesses of my brain for the past three months. I choose to face this dodgy demon now- it is the feeling of uncertainty. I login to Facebook immediately, and see that my classmates have posted happy statuses declaring themselves to be graduates, and there is virtual bonhomie. But I see a certain pride in their statuses, which I lack and I envy them for that. "They've figured out what they are going to do with their lives, and look at you! Aimless, aimless fool!", my mind throws at me. Most people have by now figured out whether they're going to study abroad or work, and where they are going to become more accomplished. But I feel scared because of the uncertainty of it all- I plan to work but do not know where, and I doubt my writing abilities. My body is slumped in favour of total relaxation, but my mind is in overdrive. I search for a word or two to describe my sense of self, and with dismay I find that it is "direction-less and lazy". The very two things that I despise in others, and I see it in myself. Have you ever felt that moment when you feel like you're trying really hard yet not hard enough? That's where I am right now, in limbo, hanging in between the light of figuring out my career and the dark of just being a college pass out with no aim. I'am sure there are a few souls like me who will agree with me when I say that it is highly frustrating when an adult asks you very casually, "Enna ma, what are your plans after this?" My innards are fraught with dread and anxiety, but externally I maintain a calm poise. I tell them that I plan to work in media field. Cue next irritating response or question, always alternating between "Oh, where? Hope we'll see you in the TV soon, hehe!" and "Why are you not studying a PG, ma?!" I want to shout that I do not bloody know where I am going to sit and screw my brains out due to work, and that I was not enthusiastic about a PG. Is it normal to not have your life figured out in this important passage of time, where everybody except me seems so sure of where they are progressing? It might sound overly dramatic when I say this, but I felt a faint voice screaming inside me due to the frustration. Because it feels like I take a step backward every time another young person like me knows what they are going to do next in life. I feel under-accomplished and like a dunce, and those breezy and emphatic articles flooding the internet talking about how it is okay to have your 20s figured out do not help me in the least. To put it simply in one sentence, "I do not want to feel like a failure." If I had a rupee for every career-related thought that plays with my mind and my peace, I'd be a crorepathi and would be able to set up my own magazine. If only, *sigh*.   

The Night I’ll Remember– 2/9/12

It's been months since I last opened this blog account. This write up or rather a rant should have been posted a year back. But I for some weird whim that must have taken hold of me then didn't. And so, now I do the honour of presenting the one thing I'am good at writing- rants I type out brashly with bristling self-righteousness at a moment and then forgotten about a day or two later. Looking back at this piece I wrote, I smile because I note with equal measures of joy and disdain that I have not really changed and would probably write the same thing if it were to happen again. (Fingers crossed, this should NOT happen) Without rambling any further, here it is:

I would say yesterday, Sep 2, was one of the most irritating things that I’ve ever experienced. Now let me tell you why and what happened. It started out beautifully, with the rain setting in and the weather was calm and very pleasant, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself, after a good dinner of Rotis, Paneer Butter Masala and Fried Rice.

It was 10 PM and I had received a text from my cousin I hadn’t spoken to in a long time, and it felt good talking about trivial topics. And then suddenly, whooshity doosh, the electricity goes off. My first reaction was neutral, and I thought, “Hey, it’ll be back in another 5 minutes.” But 5 minutes stretched into an hour passing by, and the electricity wasn’t back yet. I was irritated as I had college tomorrow and did not want to absent myself and I was muttering constantly, throwing choice swear words here and there, and my mother chiding me that the electricity was irritating her too, and I need not add to her already bad mood. 

But as time started passing by, I got extremely piqued. To put my moodiness at bay, I witnessed the scenario outside, through the bars of the open windows. The trees outside looked topsy-turvy, like the roots were above and the clusters of branches and leaves were below, and the inky-blue sky along with the occasional chill breeze soothing my terse self and I was getting high and laughing for no reason like I was drunk on God-knows-what. Then came the onslaught of mosquitoes to ruin my mood. Like possessive and needy lovers, they made slow love to my sweaty body. They kept buzzing around my ears, biting my hands and legs, leaving behind stupid hickeys. And very obviously, I did not like it because who likes mosquitoes leaving behind a part of them to remember? 

I covered myself with my dad’s white veshti, but no, they had to hover around, giving me the company I did not require. It’s true, you know, that misery loves company. I was misery personified then, and I did require company, but of the air conditioner and the fan, not the damned mosquitoes. I started proclaiming aloud how our country was not going to develop any further if they did not take care of basic facilities like ensuring strong electricity for the masses. I worked myself up into some sort of fervor, and I tried to even be introspective, but I really couldn’t, what with a sweat covered blanket, the hovering mosquitoes and a sleep deprived state. I fell into fits of deep slumber now and then, and would wake up to find that the electricity had not returned. Calls were made to the Electricity Board (EB), but the charming workers there did not pick up the calls. Fraught with a case of nerves and a desire to chop off the heads of anybody who passed even the slightest comment to irk me, I really did not know how to distract myself. Then after what seemed like an eternity, my grandfather said that the electricity would return only at 7 or 8 AM in the morning. I accepted defeat, claimed this was all some sort of conspiracy, and before you could tell me “Shut up”, I was asleep.

I wake up at 6 AM, go to the living room, crash on the couch and sleep again. The mosquitoes probably realized that despite the pleasure their company gave me throughout the night, they had to leave, and they did so very reluctantly, if I may say so. I’m guessing the extremely efficient EB workers were well versed in reading the clock, because the electricity returned after a mere 2 hours of the promised 7-8 AM slot. And that too for a span of 10 minutes or so, but hey, I should be extremely grateful right? I mean, what is a sacrifice of more than 8 hours of sleep and sanity compared to for 10 minutes of the rhythm of the fan which spewed a gush of air? Nothing, I tell you, for I am a very ungrateful and unreasonable person. I mean, the EB workers are martyrs for letting the residents of my area stay awake for a mere 8 hours while they gird their loins in order to work much, much later after the electricity snapped. And while I write this, I observe a squirrel climbing the frail stem of a Tulsi plant pot placed outside some one’s window sill on the third floor. I don’t know why I even wrote that down. And the electricity hasn’t returned yet. Wait, why am I even writing this whole incident down?   

Mind your voice!- a rant

I still remember 3 particular words that are just etched upon my mind from a lecture presented in college, even if I don’t remember a word of the core concept being taught then during the lecture. These 3 words are essential to an aspiring journalist like me and any other human being for that matter. Okay I have done enough of beating around the bush, and those 3 words I present to you with a flourish of my arms and an imaginary drum roll: “Courtesy costs nothing”. There, I said it. If your face has that questioning look that accuses me of stating a fact that I took 5 sentences to introduce, then please hear me out. I accept that it is difficult to communicate in a polite manner in stressful situations such as during meetings or even when a person is about to just sit down to eat dinner, but it bodes well to be agreeable to the other person, and not talk like one’s got daggers lined up right beside them that they are going to fling haphazardly. I have been piqued because I faced two unpleasant experiences with two very irksome people. One was the editor of a big media house, and another a god-knows-what in some motorcycle showroom. Two very contrasting situations, and you might quirk an eyebrow at me and ask me, “But showroom employees are nice to prospective customers. Why would they be rude?” The editor could be justified by saying that he is in a top-notch position where he deals with too many people and does not have time for any Tom, Dick and Harry calling to inquire about internships.  And the sales manager dude? What would be his excuse? Hmm, I don’t feel like both of these guys need a justification for that kind of outright dis-courteousness. To these guys, I address from here the message I want to hammer into their brains.  I understand that Chennai is a hot place to work at and it is not easy to handle the heat outside and the heat at work. But I would like to point out that it is NOT okay to just slam another person on the phone ( being me here) who is trying to hold on to every bit of her patience here and not lash out at you like a leather whip at the hands of a 21^st century Phoolan Devi! No matter what position you hold at your workplace, don’t forget that the other person on the phone is a) a human being just like you and b) the reason you earn your bread and butter. Remember that if you cannot be something as simple as courteous, you are a petty person no matter whether you are oh-so-friendly in your social circle or you use a religious caller tune to establish your virtuous personality (what an irony, don’t you think?) And again I address the two above mentioned people to tell you that I may be younger to you in age and not have that expertise you clutch so close to your heart, but your tongue is vile and that it will eclipse your merits otherwise. I conclude with three words that I hope is like a prick to your otherwise tolerable personality: Mind your voice.

Weird,WEIRD virtual world.

It's been so long since i logged into my blogger account, and i have nobody but myself to blame, being the lazy bum i am. And i am now back with a vengeance (sort of) to cram in all i have noticed about the very weird virtual world i live in. (Tres pathetic). To begin with, the Internet is a major boon to the "glued to my laptop and numb in the bum from all that sitting" types like me. And there are so many avenues to explore in this beautiful yet weird virtual world. Why weird, you ask me. Well, some idiots irritate a quasi-grammar nazi like me by using that godforsaken English lingo which is "so kewl,u knw". Take for example, this one:

Can i use the wheelchair option, please? Preferably one where i can  'accidentally'  fall and  hurt myself?

To the homies who use this distressing lingo that is murdering the beautiful language mercilessly and slowly, please PLEASE have pity on some of us who actually adhere to typing/writing the words just the way they are, not "lyk dis wch u find easy". Because sooner or later, someone is going to end up throwing a dictionary on your face, and who knows, i just might be that one. Yes, i can be menacing that way (Oh wait, that was a joke). And the other stupid trend which is setting fire to Tumblr and my Facebook newsfeed is the apparently very meaningful art of writing very obvious facts on a random picture of a scantily dressed girl or a couple making out like there's no tomorrow, like this one:

"I love how people want to smack us with a shovel when they see this."

The picture inserted above so carefully (with the source blurred with such adept expertise by me) is just one of the many,many examples hammered into the web. We are tangled in this very web where people post meaningless drivel like this and tarnish our basic senses with its senseless and totally obvious crap. I can talk for hours about this, but there are other things to be discussed too. So moving on, the next irritating thing is the "likewhore" trend. The most pointless trend, i believe. So, this trend is totally a Facebook thing, with some idiot who needs constant reassurance that chocolates or pretty hair needs a like to emphasize a person's like for it. (Of course people love both chocolates and pretty hair, you moron!) This could be forgiven as a lapse of common sense on their parts. But some people take it to extremes, like: 

Well, that escalated quickly.

I hope this poor lady knows that her picture is being used to garner likes by some sadistic kid in some corner of the world with a dark look in his eyes and a melted banana for a brain. So, if i don't like this picture, it means my grandma is going to die, is it? Stupid baboon farts. There are so many stupid things going on in the Internet, and i could go on ranting about them, but i put an end to it right here. All i can say is that its a weird virtual world. And as a fitting end to this post:

 Happy reading!