The long 'bump'y road :)

The dust bunnies on the blog are proof of how un-looked-after it has become. The poor dear. Fear not, I'm back with another post!

Last September, the date of my last post, most of this was just a dream. Nay, some of it did not exist even in my imagination. I could not begin to grasp the concepts I have increasing mastery and understanding of now - even to the point of obsession. And I love this learning journey as much as I am in awe of it. The teeny 10-odd incher inside kicks to let me know there's more to come, much more to marvel about.

A and I are at another turning point on our lives - we get to share it from now on with another person who's all ours. Though I doubt if s/he is going to be only ours - there's a host of very eager, thrilled people wanting a part of his/her life. :) We can't imagine the pillu's (tiny fellow's) life without all of them in it.

It's been just over 6 months now that a highly strung A and I took not one but two home tests, held with shaky fingers and read with a huge lot of skepticism. I remember wondering if I had held it wrong, read it upside down (?!) or with eyes all misty to get a false positive. And my uncertainty didn't help poor A any. I think it took us another 5 odd weeks, after seeing the grainy B&W images of a tiny moving human at our first ultrasound to finally quell all doubts that we were, in fact, pregnant.

We wanted to shout it from the rooftops and keep it to ourselves all at the same time. There's a slow, but certain, thrill that's crept into us as the weeks have progressed. I wonder if we've passed it on - infectious as we think it is - to the to-be uncles and aunts, grandmas and grandpas.

As we step into the last few months with Bump (as suggested by Uncle D), we know we have to get a lot done and plan a lot more. But for now, I'll let the jostling, poking, kicking and hiccuping in the bump govern my attention :)

Shubham Karoti

I've been letting my blog languish, trying to get a suitable idea to pen down here for a while now. Tee has given me some inspiration here. She's unlocked memories with her lovely Laal Bhoplyachi Kheer recipe, and given the opening to this post. Owe you one Tee!

Tee's kheer is very strongly reminiscent of my paternal Ajji. And though this post has nothing to do with food, it does have something to do with my Ajji's influence on me.

It was usually my grandmother who did the disciplining. Self-appointed guru, imparting the 'necessary' vidya to keep the family righteous at all times. Instilling the values that any child of a brahmin family should not breathe without. The shlokas, the vedic rituals, the traditions that are now a lineage. The proud inheritance of religious knowledge and the beliefs stemming from it.

My grandfather was more indulgent. He told us stories from the 'Sampurna Chaturmaas' - a guide to all imperative Marathi rituals, some even broken down month by month. To him, entertainment was the necessary sugar that made the medicine of tradition go down. He tried to make everything as interesting and participatory as possible. And that meant stringing hand-picked flowers into a garland, or decorating the Ganpati stand, or even completing the stories we had heard so often, they were a part of our conscious.

But discipline can't be written off. It was what made us join our hands (in a then perfunctory, restless) namaskar to God before running away to school. Or what made us wash our feet unquestioningly in the evening - belligerent from being called away from a long muddy play session - and join in the small four-lined Shubham karoti when the lamp was lit. But it was also what gave me the comfort of knowing my faith was not in vain.

And today, I recognise it for what it is - a routine that gives me peace. A faith that keeps me positive. Superstitious, you say? You bet! I admit to it. As easily as I close my eyes tight to ask God for help, I have learned to thank Him for every day. Just as my grandmother taught me to. I love the glow of the flickering samai as I light it every evening, and automatically, my hands join in a namaskar to mouth lines that, now, no one has to remind me to say. I can see Ajji nodding in approval all the way across the seas :)

Nope, won't get too religious and preachy on you today. Just the arrival of my favourite houseguest for 10 days that's made me go into this mood. And that gorgeous creamy kheer from Tee. Ummmm.

Ek Cutting

For some reason, I can't stop thinking of steaming cups of chai today. Lovely wisps of steam winding above that murky brown, uniquely Indian concoction. Ek cutting. Perhaps I find it comforting? Solace, maybe? Though in the typically Indian context it would mean company. Friends. Strangers. Bridegroom viewing. That first hello, a welcome, a hug, a way of filling that awkard silence, or just sharing a golden one :) Solid Indian hospitality, 'ek chai to lete jao!' (have a cup of tea at least!) Better yet, it could mean nothing, just 'time for chai', and as an Indian, I vouch that could mean any hour of the day / night!

With all the time I have on my hands today, I could guzzle away. Perfect accompaniment for a tussle with words - struggling to fill an application form that demands resourceful use of English. A careless sip or a reverent holding of the warm mug. Aah, I love my chai.

And to think that there was a time I thought drinking tea was a waste of time. That coffee was a more stylish and 'with-it' beverage. Thank God for my university days when (essentially) a lack money meant I chose the Rs.2 chai over the Rs.3 or more coffee. But it ensured that I suddenly belonged to, and understood, the chai drinking motley gang, joining in sometimes scholarly, sometimes eccentric, always entertaining and loud conversations. It didn't matter that the chai was brewed forever and was saccharine-sweet. Or that Rs.2 actually bought you only about 3 sips. No, chai was the new coffee in my life.

England came into my life with tea bags. Initially, I would boil the tea bags with water, the way we desis would back home. Then came the English tea concept - pouring hot water into a cup holding the tea bag, letting it 'brew' or 'stand' thus for a little while, finally stirring sugar and milk ('cream'? Ha!) into it. As students with a premium on time, we usually eliminated the 'standing time' and almost threw the lot into the cup and drank. But homesickness and nostalgia brought the brewing back. Can't be Indian without the strength in the tea, now, can we?

I bristle when the English show familiarity with tea. Unreasonable as it might be, tea for me is Indian. It's chai. How can it not be? Whether it's from Darjeeling or Kerala or Ooty, with cardamom and cloves or plain, it's ours. Like Basmati. Period.

Ummm chai. Need another cup of tea.

Ramayana Retold

Perhaps it would help if I put a disclaimer on this post much like the ones that flash on screens right before soap-sagas. 'The views expressed here are solely the author's and do not reflect her religious or political inclinations. Any unflattering comments are meant to be exactly that.'

I love the Indian epics. The Ramayan and Mahabharat are, according to me, the master plans for all stories ever told, certainly those based in India. They have all the ingredients for a successful script - virtuous men and divine women, demons and vamps, vile enemies, enviable harmony disrupted by human errors leading to colossal damages, war, love, betrayal, fight for honour, and the quintessential triumph of good over evil. Now you know Ekta Kapoor has an ocean to dip into for ideas.

What's more, they're not just mere stories to most of us Indians. They imbibe lessons for living. Set ideals to aspire to. Give us Gods to pray to. And show how human weaknesses and our inability (or unwillingness) to conquer our own demons leads to our fall.

Having said that, getting a new interpretation of a story that seems as old as time is always a tempting proposition. So when I stumbled across Ashok Banker's version of Ramayan as a five-book series at the library sometime back, I was quite thrilled. Being well-versed in the events of the story was a big plus, since I came across Book 3 before the other 2. The Bridge of Rama. It intrigued me enough to disregard a friend's not-so-favourable opinion - I read page after page with avid interest, wanting to know which other event or character would come out in way I least expected. But there was something not-quite-right, and I wondered if I was just trying to find faults. In the end, it did what a good book series should probably do - made me want to read the next one.

I managed to get my hands on another one, the first of the series this time, but as I got it scanned for issue, I wondered if I was taking this book because it was a re-telling of one of my favourite childhood stories, or just because it was proving to be good reading. As I get deeper into the pages, I think the latter would be more applicable, if at all. I would hardly recommend this to someone who wanted to know the story for the epic that it is. I would not want them to imagine Lakshman and Shatrughan referring to each other as 'Luck' and 'Shot', for starters. Neither would I want to know about lustful thoughts that the septuagenarian King Dashratha was entertaining. If you're looking for a story about magic, demons, royalty, skillful combat, some love and lots of lust, you're in the right page, i mean place. As a well-paced, well-sketched story, there's not much you can fault it for.

I would like to think of myself as a non-fanatic, tolerant of contradicting religious opinions and open to new ideas kind of person (don't we all?). What I mean is, I would not kill for a once -was temple which then had a mosque, or pillage a treasure of ancient documents because it served as research to a work that I felt showed a past king in lesser light. In fact, I enjoy Rama being portrayed as a human and not a demi-god, or sharing the author's imaginative re-constructions of the story (some of them make so much sense!). I don't think it's sacrilege to look at characters as familiar to you as your own family through a different looking-glass. But I do mind it being written in a language that could as easily be that in a Harry Potter, Bartimaeus (I adore this one too!) or yet another magical story set in an exotic land. I am not happy with run-of-the-mill vocabulary, and the predictable descriptions (Ravana, the Dark Lord? Echoing something called Harry Potter?) . I don't personally associate good writing with fantabulous, check the dictionary kind of words. But for me, the profession of writing is something that comes with the power to bend words of common use, pepper them with some lovely a-word-a-day vocabulary, and bring them to life in a way hitherto unseen.

Perhaps it's easy to pass judgment as a common, unqualified reader - one of many. This is not to take anything away from the sheer effort of putting together a story that is so much a part of a nation's fabric, the research and the creativity of reading differently a story heard umpteen times on your grandmother's lap.

It's a tale I enjoyed, reminded me slightly of some others I had read in the way it was told, but left me wishing for the real thing. Then again, I might be in the minority. Don't pull me up, I did put up a disclaimer!

How to make Puran Poli from Appam - The Art of Cultural Influence

I sat through Jodhaa-Akbar. Twice. And not out of compulsion. I can even say I liked it. What's not to like if there is Hrithik Roshan as an emperor to feast your eyes on? But the other reason is that I like the underlying theme of cross-cultural relationships.

Let me explain. I am a Maharashtrian married to a Mallu, living in the UK. Unity in diversity, 'glocal' living and all that. I think we have been married just long enough to say our cross-cultural 'union' seems to be getting along just fine. If you ignore my slight tendency to be overpoweringly,and surprisingly, true to my ancestors' soil.

I, umm, uhh, suggest (Ok, who am I kidding - I insist) to A that he be sensitive to my Maharashtrian-ness and its religious, traditional, gastronomical implications and adopt as much of my culture as possible. He doesn't drive a hard bargain - I do not have to start oiling my hair after a bath and wear a mundu, 'zimbly' (simply, for the uninitiated). But I find that there are times I hang on to all things Maharashtrian just out of the fear that the Mallu's mere presence would make me lose my original, mee marathi identity. So it could be my kitchen with its goda masala and thalipeeth bhajani, or my puja area with its haldi-kunku koyri, or perhaps my sudden love for Marathi cinema. I'm eternally prepared to defend my gadh (hill fort) from this Keralite invasion - just that there isn't one forthcoming - now or anytime soon.

A, being the typical man that he is, couldn't care less for my histrionics. I am the only one watching. Give him his daily meals and keep them coming. It doesn't matter hugely if they are as Maharashtrian as the Shiv Sena, as long as they satisfy his palate. He enjoys pithla, sheera, thalipeeth as much as dosas and appams, and could beat any Marathi man in a shrikhand-eating contest. The (happy) twist in the story is this - I could not eat all-Maharashtrian food all week long. No matter how much I claim to be the next successor to Shivaji's clan. I was born in the South, brought up in the North, the East, the West and the centre. So I need my dose of upmas, idlis, dosas, parathas, makhanis and chana masalas. Oh, and pastas and pizzas. And oh oh, Chinese - the ultimate cuisine. (Lost the point again, food does that to me. Apologies!)

As I was saying, the culture clash is non-existent in our house. It makes life so much easier since our religion is the same, and hence the basic tenets of living are common. But as others in similar situations might agree, the smallest discord over we-maharashtrians-do-this and you-keralites-don't, can disrupt domestic harmony. What could begin as harmless leg-pulling over accents, for example, could suddenly land you in the middle of a shouting match about whose language is better, whose food is tastier or even whose people are smarter. What helps, I would think, is knowing personal tolerance limits to avoid potential landmines, and most importantly, laughing at yourself.

It's been repeated often enough that we can learn from other states, regions, cultures. But when you get married into one, that takes on a whole new dimension. As an Indian woman, you have been brought up to look at your husband's family as your own - their ways are to be adopted, their traditions upheld. It is lovely advice - it is how families have grown, bonded and lived as one for generations. But it's challenging even without the complications of crossing cultures. You want to protect what you think defines you, and yet, blend into a new house and a new family seamlessly, hope for them to take you as one of their own. In all this, there is no undermining the role the husband plays in making your culture his own, thus creating an atmosphere of positive exchange (A gets full marks here. And Hrithik / Akbar is outstanding. Extra marks for good looks, of course).

But as I am learning, all it takes for the appam and the puran poli to co-exist, is the will to do so. A and I try and make this exchange as interesting for each other as possible - a word a day in the other's language, cooking tips, movies, or just plain old anecdotes about Maharashtrian / Malayalee people. It gives us a window into another world (and makes us smarter than the average couple, but that is another story). So although A does speak more Marathi than I do Malayalam (oh come on, it's a really difficult language!), and we do end up eating rotis more than rice, you will find us watching the occasional Malayalam movie and if you listen real hard, that's me sprinkling Malayalee words in my conversation with my mother-in-law. Oh, gotta go......... my appam's burning!

Autumn

Nov/ Dec, not Oct as it says at the beginning of the post.

I love autumn. It gets my vote for Best Season of the Year. Especially since there is no autumn in India, for me, it inspires a child-like awe. Everyday, on my way to university with A, the gorgeous autumn colours all around and the constant rustle of falling leaves makes me want to capture it all in a painting. Not that I can do it. And not that people haven't done it wonderfully already. I want to describe it all in words here, but all I can come up with is 'visual poetry'.

There is this one particular tree that I am in love with. It's not very tall, so that it branches out at just the right height for me to appreciate. Its leaves are a gorgeous red-yellow, slightly shrivelled, making it look like a small brown light stand with baubles. You think I'm getting carried away? Well, I would have justified my fawning, if only I'd clicked it in time. As with many other tasks that I procrastinate, it's a wee bit too late now - the little leaves are gone, leaving the tree looking like so many others around it - a sad, cold, naked frame, wishing for spring again. What are we taught in childhood Moral Science classes?In Kabir's words "Kal kare so aaj kar.....". Oh well.

To comfort myself about my flawed existence, I baked a nice banana loaf with A on a lazy, rainy (hello, this is England!) Sunday afternoon. Now, he says he has what is called in Malayalam as 'kaya punyam' ('haath gun' in Marathi, the Midas touch for cooking). Whether it was his hand or the chef's (aka Me) skill, the loaf turned out comforting and more! Hot tea and some banana -walnut loaf. Aaah, bliss. Celebrate autumn :D ! This one I clicked.(..am I a fast learner or what ;)). Come share it.


Of course, I am late in completing this long-back begun entry as well, so that it is winter when I write. Which translates as cold winds and ...yes, more rain. Give me back my blue skies!! And, await my next entry while you're at it.

Ganpati Bappa .. More-ya!

Tomorrow is Anant Chaturdashi. I have never particularly liked this day. It brings with it the sadness of farewell. The pain of parting. Made slightly bearable by lovely fried 'modaks' and 'vatleli daal'. Say goodbye to the benign Elephant God - Ganesha. Your guest for a celebrative, often colourful, certainly musical 10 days of modaks, pedhas, karanjis and endless hogging. (Don't we Indians need just the slightest religious excuse to gorge on delicious, oily food?)

For us, it probably began with my father who brought Ganpati home as a child for the first time. Of course, the religious rites and puja was being done for generations, but the festive version was my father's doing. In typical childish stubbornness, he decided that his house should have the same decorative 'murti' as the nearby 'mandal' - why should he miss out? And since then, Ganesh Chaturthi has been a big occasion in our household, eagerly anticipated and thoroughly celebrated. It even got the competitive zeal of the mandals (the most creatively decorated mandal gets prizes) into our house - to this day, my brother and I slave over the decorations around the Ganesh murti to get more compliments that each other. Picking out the idol is accorded the utmost importance. We mull endlessly over the hand of this murti and the trunk of that, the seat of one and the eyes of the other (the stall owner knows us very well, no doubt as the Finicky Four). Then there is the puja itself - with all the kids giggling behind my father's back over the strange sounding mantras.

This year, though, things were slightly different. It was upon me (and by extension, A) to recreate that ambiance in faraway UK (where in some places it is difficult to know when Christmas comes and goes). Obstacles - no good sized idol, no puja- cassette to guide, no Aai to cook endless batches of modaks for us to devour. Don't ask me how, but we overcame all that. And talk about how God helps you - we made a small murti at home with moudable clay, and it actually turned out good!!! Not to take credit away from A, but me, the One with the Cursed Fingers, I actually made parts of the murti! What else but a miracle!! (Aai and the others can stop nodding their heads now).

So we did have a murti, as it turns out, A and I read the Sanskrit puja out of a book, did the necessary rites, made the modaks - which I can proudly say turned out well, and I gloat not - and hogged, as is custom. Aaaaah, festive food! Thus was welcomed the Mangalmurti into our house!

And now, it's already time for Him to go back to His mother (my mother used to console me saying he was going back to his mother would be back from there next year - he also missed his mother na? somehow that made him more human, and more loveable). The decorated corner is going to be so empty, all of a sudden. Evenings will seem so aimless without the long 'aarti'.

But fear not! There is another festivity around the corner! Diwali will soon be here. Too bad I can't show off my bravery with firecrackers here - health and safety, you know!

Up, Up and Awaayyyyyyyy..........

I'm trying to get my head around the Blogger changes........ Started out with the older version (yes, it's been that long since I last posted something ;) ) and all that code. I was just about to announce my victory over the html code with a new header picture, when I realised I was just cutting my nose to spite my face. So I am all aboard the new blogger beta version and ready to make my life a teeny bit easier.

People are so innovative with their blogs - the presentation and the content - I feel like my poor little blog doesn't belong! But I am going to take toddler steps and change that. Await the improved look of this blog,ye readers!

Have been doing a lot of movie / TV show - watching lately (no thanks to my sci-fi / animation obsessed husband, AS). And though I am not a total convert to that genre of cinema/ television yet (gooey stuff, my sister calls it) , I must confess I quite enjoy it. So in come the Doctor Whos, Supernaturals, Pirates, Spidermans, Smallvilles, etc. AS has to pay dearly for this new liking though, because it implies a barrage of questions from me during the show/ movie. So we sat through the whole of Pirates with my endless - Who is this? Does she love him? Will he die? Why didnt they release Calypso? Who is Calypso?? Of course, my favourite question to him at any given time is - What will happen now?!? Like he knows every single story ever written/ filmed. But somehow, just because he watches them with such interest, I expect him to know. Add to that my plight of not understanding all the time-travelling and the sudden appearances of humans and aliens from the past and the future. (Add to the inexplicable urge to needle someone who is so completely involved in something :D)

I have always loved all stories with magic in them - right from the Grimm brothers' fairy tales and Vikram- Vetal to Harry Potter and Ghost Whisperer. Some might claim that stuff like Charmed is for girls - and why not, with a demon who looks like Cole - but I beg to differ. Those 3 witches might not be Charlie's Angels, but they sure can 'kick some demon ass'. Anyhoo, producers somehow seem to get yummy actors to play these superhero- type/ principal characters - L can sit through all of Smallville only for its Clark Kent, and another friend would not mind if all the characters in Pirates 3 were played by Johnny Depp. As for me, the only thing I can recall about Supernatural is one of the investigators - the elder of two brothers. Mmmmmm......

Of course, there's more to the shows/ movies than merely pretty faces. Some have superbly imaginative stories. I am currently loading up on Doctor Who. For anyone who liked Star Trek, this one is a surefire winner - if you haven't read the Doctor Who books already. I didn't quite understand the hoolabuloo around it esp here in the UK, but even the series is like a racy book you can't quite put down. And I've grown to love the Doctor (AS had a hard time convincing me not to hate David Tennant, the current Doctor, just for taking over from Christopher Eccleston, the actor who previously played Doctor Who. Now I love Tennant as the Doctor :D).

So, sweeties, go watch some Doctor Who. Once you get hooked, you won't blame your mother for going back to her Saas-Bahu night after night. And guys, you might want to think twice about initiating your girlfriend/ wife into the World Beyond - you might find her drooling over your Clark Kent instead of dreaming of you.

When I sit down to think about it, I wonder how he didn't just throw his hands up and move on, give up on me ( there's God up there!!). Me, with all my doubts, misgivings and what ifs. I had my share of reasons for dilly-dallying, but he didn't need to be sensitive to each one of them. Or maybe he did. Maybe he sensed the hope in me much before I did.

It's been a tough season. I've had to change a lot of my perceptions, take a lot of decisions and learn lessons of responsibility. Never would I have dreamt of what doing the balancing act could actually entail. Do I hurt my parents, or do I ignore what I really want? Do I even know what I really want? It's a blur, but it's over. It has a peaceful ending. And it's made me grow up and find myself. Finally. Whaddya know, I'm even proud of myself, all said and done. No one's threatening drastic action, my future's not full of this or that, it's this and that.

And for most of this, I have to thank the man I'm going to marry. This probably won't happen too many times, so pay attention....I need to give him some credit (note the use of the word 'some'). He's had faith in me, and stood by me all through the confusing times I was seeking answers. Even bullied me into his way of thinking (wink). He knows I'm always going to be the one with the doubts, but the deed is done now......... the wedding date is fixed and more importantly, my mind is set (God help anyone who doesn't do my bidding!!)

My support system of girlfriends can put themselves right up there in the vote of thanks. Who else listens to your crappy reasonings and self-piteous whining, and still says 'I'm so happy for you' and means it? Go girl power!

And last, but not the least..........

yaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Missing

People should not create blogs and then leave them to gather dust. I mean, so what if you're not being charged for the web space, surely you can tend to your blog and give it some TLC. Sad. So, considering that this page is sooooo well-maintained, we shall refrain from any 'update' activity.

Did I ever mention in my endless yapping in all past posts that time travels faster than light? Didn't get that, did you? (Einstein's turning in his grave now, so we'll leave it at that) It's the strangest feeling - that time is rushing by and yet, nothing's happening fast enough. Life's changing and yet, things are no different. I'm not sure if one can successfully compartmentalise one's life and address each segment independantly, but I sure wish I could. I want to speed up and find satisfying work; slow down and tissue-wrap each moment with my family. Not surprising that one objective often clashes with the other.

With each passing day, there's a sense of desperation vying for top spot with a growing sense of anticipation. I battle with a feeling of worthlesness looking at achievers around me. And yet such competition and challenge is exactly what drives me (I sometimes miss the old me - looking for a bone to chew on, a task to master) At the same time, I am knee-deep in this activity of day-dreaming about the not-so-far future.... laying down groundrules for a new life, a new place; new beginnings. Anyone for a peep into the future?

Where did all that come from? No, children, it's not that time of the month. In the words of the famous Bertie Wooster -- brought to life by P.G.Wodehouse, and they don't come any better than him --
"Extraordinary how I kept doing that as of even date (...) I don't suppose in the old days I would have plunged in thought more than about once a month".

{Check here and here for high quality, intellectual Wodehousian humour}

Thus, dearies, ends another of my sporadic emergences from blog exile. I am sincerely hoping this one sees me return to blogworld for longer. Did I hear someone say "Whyever?!" Shame on you!

Lucky to be a woman ! ? !

'Women will wait, get in line after the men for the prasad '. Thus ordained the priest at the temple to a dozen women waiting patiently.

I accompanied my family to a temple on the outskirts of my hometown in India this morning. Being a devout Hindu, and belonging to a lineage of brahmins (priests), God plays a very important part in my belief system. Though never forced to observe religious traditions or familial rituals, I can't imagine my childhood without the memories of my father's morning aarti, the quiet moments of worship in front of a collage of framed deities and tiny idols, the peaceful glow of the evening diya and numerous repetitions of some shloka with my indulgent grandmother.

And although it is true that I have my favourites, even among the vast Hindu pantheon of gods, I like visiting temples erected in the honour of any diety - more so if they are small, old and not partonised by a politician, filmstar or industrialist. There is a sense of quietude in the temple air, a calm that soothes my soul. I don't always find answers to my troubles here, but I certainly come back with a stronger belief that I can. This is a place where I can be myself - after all, didn't my grandfather teach me that God knows you better than yourself, that He is in you?

It is exactly this thought - or off-shoots of it - that was the foundation of my innocent belief that temples are great equalisers. Everyone is the same in the eyes of God, isn't it? So in most 'unimportant' temples in your neighbourhood-- where faith counts more than political or financial clout, and where the 'more equal' do not rush in for a 'flying' visit skipping kilometers of waiting devotees -- the senior manager in a multinational will wait in the same queue as the man who fixes you car, without much ado.

So there I was today, in the morning, extolling these levelling virtues of temples. Looking at how my father, the Vice-President of a big company, standing in line behind a village farmer, awaiting his turn for darshan , a glimpse of Lord Dattatraya. I was feeling gratified, my faith renewed with the purity of the people's surrender to God, revelling in the tranquility the temple brought.

And then, just as the aarti - traditional worship - was about to begin - we, the womenfolk, were first ushered over to one side of the puja area. We were motioned over to the sidelines , a quarter in size of the available darshan area. All the men had a full frontal view of the small idol and the proceedings, while we stood on our toes and flexed to catch a tiny glimpse. Having done that for the entire length of the aarti, we were made to wait as the men made their way to partake of the prasad and the teertha (holy water). Only after they had had their turn, were we (so graciously) allowed to proceed ourselves. Praise to the Almighty!

Suffice to say I am properly peeved. I pride Hinduism for its progressive and liberal beliefs. I know that it has grown as a religion and assimilated changes around it over centuries. I understand that each ritual and tradition was started with a logic relevant to its time. But why is it that even today, when on one hand men bow to Goddess Laxmi, on the other, women are meted out secondary treatment at holy places? Don't the men who ban women from entering the sanctum sanctorum at places like Sabrimala acknowledge the place of Goddesses in Hindu religion? Or is just that they haven't awakened to modern hygiene among women and still consider us 'impure' at all times?

No, I am not boycotting temples. No one can take away the serenity the temple round the corner possesses. One of the priests there is a woman, for starters.

Old Maid Activities

Attend my re-christening ceremony. Procrastination. That's what I should be called......I embody it. Oh, and my middle name, is, (not hard to guess)...Laziness. I am not ashamed to confess to those chinks in my armour. Surely, everyone has some, uh, weaknesses.

I'm growing older by the day, with not much to show for my age. And I am obviously excluding physical signs of aging from that. Oh! What shall become of me ;)

I have had the chance to catch up a bit on my reading, as well a spot of movie watching, though, in the past few months. So I read

• 'For Martimonial Purposes' by Kavita Daswani : Fast-paced, witty, quick read about a single Indian woman and her family's quest to get her married. Good read, I thought, considering I might just be the author's inspiration for 'Anju'.
• 'The Namesake' by Jhumpa Lahiri : I found this one better than her 'Interpreter of Maladies'. All the characters seem very real, the conflicts between two generations and the tumultous blending of two cultures over two generations are portrayed with just the right amount of empathy, I thought.
  
• 'Angels and Demons' by Dan Brown : Ok, with due respect to Dan Brown fans, this one, I found disappointing. The Da Vinci Code was good, but in this one, it seemed to me that Brown was trying to do too many things towards the end. Or maybe I am not the readership intended for this one!
• 'Rang De Basanti' : With sooooo much hype and hoopla, I confess I was looking forward to watching this movie. And except for about the last 40-odd minutes, it lived up to its promise. Messy end, a bit like the Angels and Demons one, where the makers appeared to want to cram lot into the remaining reel. Worth a dekko, though. (I know Aamir fans find this sacrilege, sorry people!).
• 'Real Women Have Curves' : Completely, totally recommended by moi! This is an HBO original, a little bit of a women-empowerment line running through it....but very gratifying to see a plus-sized teenager (with a really sexy attitude!) who is so comfortable in her own skin, literally! Move over, Kate Moss! Catch it on HBO if you can.

There are some works-in-progress -- To Kill A Mockingbird, Atlas Shrugged and Room With A View, to name a few. All of whom have been waiting patiently for my attention. But then, surely you haven't forgotten that I am about to be renamed for this trait of putting things off, lately?

Homecoming Month - Long Live Saggis!

My friend says she usually knows the sun is in Sagittarius when the rate of my clumsyness picks up. You know, the usual - extra step showing up out of nowhere to break my stride. Mobile phones and keys going potty and refusing to remain visible. Fingers slipping on keyboards resulting in gorgeous typos. Oh you know, the works.

But then 'tis also the time when I am at my optimisitic best. Rose-tinted glasses and all! No wonder my current state of abject poverty doesn't hurt so much right now. Good too that I have my enhanced optimism to see me through the 'weddings, babies and growing older' rigmarole that seems to thrust itself in my face with renewed vigour.

I just attended a gorgeous, simple Maharashtrian wedding of two close friends. To those who haven't attended a Maharashtrian wedding yet, I think you should. It's a simple affair, not at all like lavish North Indian do's. The priests conducting weddings now-a-days explain each step to those involved, making it more than just a string of orthodox rituals. (I admit that there are some rites that rankle modern nerves - the bride's parents washing the groom's feet, for e.g., but I've seen that change too) I must say what I love about being the typical middle-class Maharashtrian brahmin is the flexibility and openness to updating tradition - perhaps I am being narrow-minded in my view of other communities. Ok, so we're veering way off any semblance of a topic here.

The point being, the poignancy of those moments during the wedding just drove home that urge to experience something like that for myself now. A girlfriend and I shared that look of understanding while sitting through the ceremony - one that said , 'I want to be there too, soon'. Add to that the fact that another birthday is right around the corner, and so are another handful of weddings, and you know what I'm talking about. And even as I grapple with that and say to myself 'it's natural, you're doing great for yourself', I get a call from another friend to come visit her and her adorable baby boy. The woman is a couple of months younger, for whoever's sake!! Right then, time to cool off........... I love all of you married (and about to be hitched) darling friends of mine!

Getting back to that beloved topic of mine (one that frustrates a certain someone) - sun signs. I am on full throttle as a Saggi right now - no stopping me! I have finished my daily quota of typos, stumblings, misplacements, mad jokes, temper tantrums (ok, i confess, you goon) and embarassing foot-in-mouth moments. By Jove, have some mercy! And I have come to terms with the fact that I might just wizen into an old maid - but you can bet your sweet *** I will be one heck of a maid! Gangway! (and cheers to another year on Earth!)

And since I'm at it...Long Live the Centaur!

Yearning

My frequent absences from blogworld have been noticed by none it seems. Ah well. you should come to expect that when your posts start getting irrelevant comments from friends. Or worse, when friends use the comments section as a forum for personal discussion!! Ah the agony!

I have been upto a lot, though, in my defense of the un-updated blog. Made one of the most difficult moves in life. The 'About Me' section on this page should now read 'Pune, India', instead of Bournemouth. But I can't get myself out of the Bournemouth mode yet. Fourteen of the best months of my life yet are stored in that beach town whose name even, I could not pronounce right when I left (Bourne -MOUTH is wrong, dah-lings, repeat after me Bourne -muth, with the 'u' as in 'mud').

I crave that sense of freedom mixed with the burden of increased responsibility, I miss the weight of assignment deadlines, I long for the house moves and the ASDA shopping, I pine for the people who are now a part of my life forever.

I miss my cycle too..... and I miss listening to my Emmie while riding. I am getting nostalgic about the winter, and the short days and the Christmas decorations in house 30. I wonder how 403 is doing, and miss the quiet hum of the library. Heck, I even miss the annoying rain!

But most of all, I miss................ Onken's Rhubarb and Vanilla yogurt. Oh the sweet, creamy taste with rhubarb pieces, ah! the rich after-taste and my! the joy of knowing more was only an ASDA or Waitrose away. I guess you could add my craving for custard doughnuts and french butter brioche to this category. Not really the same though.

As you have already figured by now, there's so much more to that year, and I have hardly begun. I know life here moves on, and people there will move on too. But the joy of needling Sunshine, quibbling with Arun, taunting Vaibhav or challenging Albert is not part of the move. It's a treasure of a lifetime, but its also something you wish was an everyday reality rather than a past memory.

Of rain and electronics

What is wrong with the world? First it rains buckets in Maharashtra, late into the year, making Puneites ( and other Maharashtrians) wonder if the month of Shravan was 365 days long. Then there's Katrina in the US, and now, it's endless rain in Bournemouth. I can see some of you shake your heads, thinking the latter is not comparable to the first two, but to those who have seen a sunny day only once in the past 20 days, I think it would be of great consequence. Like yours truly.
A native (British citizen, if you prefer) commented to me that the mugginess in Bournemouth must remind me of Delhi. Now, two things - One, although largely patriotic, I do not quite jump for joy when people think all Indians must belong to either Delhi, Mumbai or Bangalore. Oh come on! Update your geography a little.... I mean, I knew of Luton, Bristol, Cornwall, Portsmouth, Stirling, etc. etc. apart from the glaring London, Glasgow, Edinburgh and Dublin! Secondly, I want to say a big sarcastic HA! to that.... Delhi mugginess, or worse, Mumbai mugginess, is unimaginable to the Western layman, with due respect. It's like trying to explain snowfall to a Mumbaite, who has only ever experienced it inside an air-conditioned theatre when a scantily-clad woman prances about in the Swiss Alps. But we shall put my indignation on hold for a while to address other pressing matters.
I do some part-time work with the Additional Learning Needs department at the uni as a note-taker. I've had a great time doing it last year. I even sat through some lectures on Archaeology (and produced some good notes, mind you!). But those who have known me for the past half-decade or so will probably roll on the floor with laughter when I tell them about the subject I am taking notes for this year..... Electronics! Yes, you're allowed to laugh. It's the Revenge of the Sciences. I, who sprinted as far as possible from frequency, amplitude, analogue, digital, C++, etc. have to take notes for all these units. Poetic justice? You might be right. Don't get me wrong, these are all highly interesting subjects that I was good at (well, at least sometime!).
But jokes apart, it is very interesting going through all those concepts that I learnt ages ago, taught this time round by teachers who invest in making learning interesting (though I suspect I am in the only person in class who actually pays attention to all that is being said). What's even better is that since I am the only female presence in a congregation of just-about-voting-age boys, I get special consideration from the lecturers ('Good Morning, gentlemen... and lady'), which I don't hear myself complaining about ;). Go Electronics!!!

Emmie

So I have a new gadget to play with. One that took a long-ish time in coming and has travelled some distance and nationalities to reach me. Super tech nation Japan sends me a Creative MuVo2 FM with citizen Hosomi (Sunshine). All those adjectives, as you might already have guessed are more for convincing myself that Creative is better than i-pod than a real belief.
I have christened the tiny sexy black-with-white-borders player 'Emmie', after its family name - MP3. (Also in honour of its atya - aunt - Urja).
Of course, it took me some time to figure out how to upload songs on it using the organiser provided by Creative - even after the struggle I ended up uploading them the traditional, time-tested way- "Cut-Copy-Paste". I am not THAT much of a techie yet, I guess. But who cares, the songs are there, the player is there and I can listen to digital music on the move! I can also pretend to be this cool, hip Asian chic (yes, i can hear the derisive laughter through my new Creative earphones) who is swaying to the latest jhankaar beats.
Any suggestions for good songs to upload are more than welcome and shall be carefully filtered...so what if I have 5 gb worth of space, I don't want crowding around.
Ok, gotta go. Looking forward to the ride back home in Emmie's company!
p.s.: I would like to thank Rui, who has been the most amazing courier ever, my parents, friends, dog, cat, potted plant, cracked tile and Creative for believing me to be worthy of this Emmie. Love you guys (joyful sob escapes).

Flickr

Click on any of the photos below to go to my Flickr photostream.... unbelievable conceited, I know, but there are some good photos there. take a dekko, if you please!

Over the moon!

Over the moon!
Originally uploaded by Aartee.

Man, moon and machine in gorgeous harmony

Three Stooges

Three Stooges
Originally uploaded by Aartee.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. .... wish the others were here as well! Miss you, guys!

Boscombe Pier

Boscombe Pier
Originally uploaded by Aartee.

Irresistable. Sparkling blue waters and a spotless sky to match.