Pieces of the Puzzle

I am not a classical singer. Heck, I am not good at singing anything at all. Carnatic music scares me the most.. what with all the raagas, thaalas and pallavis. I was subjected to much of that during my sojourn in Chennai. To an extent that I had to sit squirming through many recitals where everybody seemed to know which finger to bend and how to slap their thigh in unison. When someone sitting next to me asked ,’Kalyani?’ referring to the raaga being sung, I pointed out helpfully, ‘No, Alpha’.

Somehow, some of the songs penetrated into my music-less brain. I have no clue about the intricacies of the structure of any song. Octave in music are as alien as Octane in Chemistry. But I love singing nevertheless. As loud as my lungs will allow. Some of the songs are so melodious that its almost criminal to let those CDs come into my hands. This Telugu song from an old movie is one my favorite. I have mastered the lyrics (only lyrics mind you). Every time I sing along, I have visions of singing in front of an audience. I use hand gestures and show the pathos and depth of my devotion to the Lord with my eyes as my mouth sings His praise. I am blissfully unaware of the magic I have created in front of me. My fans have managed to transcend into a different world by slowly lifting off of their chairs.

A furious shake with a tortured expression from my hubby dumps me back to reality. He wants to hear the CD properly. Oh well, next birth maybe!

Last night, I was driving home with this song playing in the background. I got totally excited. I quickly cleared my throat and began to off-tunely drone, "brOchevArevarurA ninu vina raghuvara nanu brOchevArevarurA AaaaAAaaaaa…." Now I was in a trance. I got so carried away that I closed my eyes while moving on to the next para, shaking my head sideways, "nI charaNaa… DADHAMMM!!!

I came crashing out of my spell. Whoops! I was bumper-to-bumper with another car! The owner of a brand new Chrysler jumped out of his car in a frenzy to check the rear of his car.

Lord Vasudeva was with me. No damage done. Maybe I should close my ears instead of my eyes next time. I apologized and got on with my life, "vAsudEvuDavu nIvu kadA…….."

THE END! Thats it folks...I know its kinda sad .. But when did you start expecting too much from Hindi movies?!

Someone told me today that she is bored of my childhood memories. I can imagine! It must be an overdoze already. I had thought about it and wondered if you all think I am living in the past. My present life is pretty exciting too, but nothing out of the ordinary. That would bore you for sure. Me going home after work, cooking a meal and sleeping? Adults are boring. When shit happens, I’ll let you know. I could regale you with my philosophy, but there are millions of blogs out there who do a great job with that. My blog started off clueless, but later I found out this could be a good medium to relate my nostalgic childhood, especially when I have accomplished so much in one life time. Those days never fail to make me smile. Pieces of the Puzzle is such an apt name for my blog. I couldn’t have been more clairvoyant. I have a long term memory which freaks people out. I remember the aunty who slapped me when my mom wasn’t looking. I recall the incident which made me puke in first grade. I cant help it! The more I write, the more I want to write. HELP!

Oh well, that’s that about my blog. Bottom line- I love writing this crap. And I will slide in present day stuff too when I think its worth mentioning and its not too personal.

On a side note- Hey Maverick, this is for you! Since you said there’s no news from my end, and since I said I put a post almost everyday, and since you said I don’t address you directly on my posts- Howdy buddy! Just for kicks, I have an open challenge for you. You will have to find out my real name (including the last name) in 2 weeks and email me your find. Before December 23^rd!

Hint- Year Book. And kiddo, keep your eyes open for further clues or 'pieces of the puzzle'.

Background for the clueless- Mav (not a blogger) happened to email me one day when he discovered that I belong to the same school/college as he. One of my posts gave it away. Not that it’s a big deal, but I was quite surprised (small world and all). Today he asked me for more details about me (like name, which year I graduated etc.). And I think for a smart guy like him, it shouldn’t be all that tough to figure out. I will let you all know if he took up the challenge and if he succeeded. Methinks he wouldn't care.

I had a water-bottle in school. It did what it was supposed to do- hold water, but I hated it. I wanted the fancy Milton one which everyone seemed to be carrying these days. The one that would keep cold water warm, unlike mine which acted as a solar heater in Madras. I had to blow my water before scalding my tongue. Also the red color had turned a disgusting pink with dirty-white scratches at the bottom. A worn-out, chewed-up straw only added to my misery as an owner. The biggest tragedy, I was losing friends because of my un-cool bottle (such were my hallucinations) I needed a replacement…NOW!

This torture meted to me by my water bottle was lost on my mom. She didn’t think I deserved a new bottle especially since this was not even a year old! If that was the case why were we changing toothbrushes so often! Bah! Simple logic was not favored in my house.

I had to take the matter in my own hands. What if I loose this one?

One afternoon, I deserted my gross water bottle under the tree and quickly cycled home without turning back even once. I had officially lost it. What an effortless crime this had been. No one would suspect my intentions as I am known for losing things.

While cycling on Kutchery road, amidst the olfactory torture, I had dreams of accompanying my mom to the department store. To buy that blue bottle with the tiny silicon bag inside it which would say 'DO NOT SWALLOW. *aah! simplistic pleasures in life* Just when I was getting to the part when my mom was paying the cashier grudgingly, someone interrupted my thoughts. Cycling behind me, huffing was puffing was my classmate, ‘Hey Alpha, here’s your water bottle. You forgot it in school. No need to thank me, I was just passing by anyway. Heh heh! Seeeeyaaa!’. Saying thus, he sped past me and tried to do a wheely with his hands in the air. It sucked!

Bloody idiot! I am not impressed. Now I am stuck with this water bottle again! How embarrassing and annoying could it get. Then another idea struck. I decided to run my cycle over it and complain to my mom that it broke.

Yes! It worked. The top part had slit open. I am going to be the proud owner of a new bottle, at last.

My mom was after all my mom. The story didnt sell, though it had potential. I was made to go to school with the same pink, worn out, battered bottle. Now it had an ugly yellow cello tape around it to add to its charm. It also came with an anti-losing warning and no warranty of replacement.

Some years ago, We were just finishing dinner, my brother, dad and I. My mom had gone visiting some relatives out of town. We were thriving on meager subsistence using all the help we could get from our kind neighbors. Sometimes I had to cook. My dad and Beta were just short of having convulsions while having my concoction of sambar rice. To my credit, it was my first cooking experience. Next thing I know, my dad’s buddy lands up to have a late night session of chess. I was hoping he had his dinner as 'this' is not something I would offer guests. I have never offered anything yet. That’s my mom’s department. But like a true Indian girl of ideal upbringing, I still went ahead and offered the sambar rice. He almost jumped out of his epidermis. I am sure he caught the pained expression on my brother’s face. He politely refused saying he had stuffed himself at home.

Goody! Phew! So the three of us ate whatever we could muster and cleaned up the table. But I am taught guests are like God. Athithi devo bhava. Gods usually don’t leave your house empty stomach. That was not a Sanskrit sloka, but I figured its a norm. Courtesy: Watching my mom in action.

So I inflicted our God with offerings of tea. He refused again. But I insisted. ‘No uncle, how can you not have tea! You refused to eat and now you refuse to drink. What is this? Papa say something to him.’

‘Arey Das, just have it yaar.’

Das uncle agreed, just to get rid of my torment. He agreed??! Jeez, I thought he was stuffed. I was hoping he would keep saying no.

I panic. Run to the kitchen and boil water. Yes, that’s the first step. Next look around for milk. Open the fridge. Check some vessels, no that’s curds. Ok, where is milk?? Rummage through the entire kitchen, even look inside the cat's bowl. Realization strikes. NO MILK!!!

Slowly come back to the living room, behind the curtains, I mouth to my dad.. N O M I L K! He is not exactly the smoothest person in town. He yells, ‘Aaaaa? What was that Alpha? Come here and tell me.' 

Oh well, he asked for it. I interrepted uncle's concentration when he just was about to take my dad's pawn ‘Uncle we ran out of milk, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize. My mom kept….blah blah. My brother drank....blah blah ’

He was glazing thinking about the damn pawn. But he didn’t want me to feel bad. He cut me short, ‘It's Ok Sweety, just give me black tea. I don’t mind. 2 spoons sugar.’

Run back to the kitchen. Hastily look for tea leaves. Empty tea container stares back at me. This had to be the worse situation I could get myself into. Is this the kind of house my mom runs? I’ll be darned! Why didn't my dad find out if there was tea before inviting friends over! Am I the only sane person in this family?

I frantically ran back and forth from the kitchen to the living room 2 more times. My dad seemed like he had swallowed a box of earthworms. They decided to abandon their game due to unforseen disturbances! By the end of it all, our God was sipping on plain boiled water.

‘Hey Alpha! Did you check the main notice board, your name is there!’

Oh wow! What did I accomplish now? I never cease to amaze myself. I am too good to be in this college, too good for my friends, too good for my teachers (there’s a song like this na?). I better find a mansion for my Ego. I guess my head is big enough.

I saunter to the notice board with my nose upturned. Kiss my rotten toe nail, ye Earthlings! Move over, THE ME has arrived!

Yes! My unisex name was there…in the list of Losers. I had attendance shortage in …Chemistry! Holy Allen Solly! I thought I had done the calculations right. I had hoped to scrap through the 75%. Of course I wasn’t going to attend a class more than what was required. Surely not Chemistry!

Crabby Chemistrywala had taken away 1/67^th of my happiness in life. There was no way out of this. I have to get a doctor’s certificate. Dammit!

A fraction of happiness returned when I saw my good friend, Distirani’s name in the list too. I am sure she’ll make a hue and cry of this and will blame me for it, but at least I have company.

Hell Broke Loose! Distirani was inconsolable. She would be ostracized by her family. She had never gotten into trouble like this before. She has to write the exams- her distinction is at stake! No one in her entire khandhan had attendance shortage before!

Excuse me! You would think my family is known for bunking classes. Must ask my dad/ granddad/ granduncle someday about this.

Some kind veteran senior guys consoled her (what about me guys?). ‘Don’t worry Distu baby, you just need a doc’s certificate and you’re scott free. Go to apna faithful Shamu’s clinic.’

With that new found knowledge, we bid them adieu and proceeded to Dr. Shamu. What will we tell him? We’ll have to fake some illness and explain that we lost our original doc’s certificate. Yeah, both of us lost it in the recent tornado. Distirani conveniently said she wouldn’t lie and I had to do the acting. Sure sure! Do I have a choice here? I have to help the downtrodden. Again, the chorus- I am too good for my…

So we drive to his clinic, park my vehicle, gingerly walk into his office, Disti behind me peering from my shoulders.

Motu Shamu detects our presence, doesn’t lift his head from the magazine,’ Yes, from what time to what time?’

‘Err.. Time? August 31^st to September 10^th.’

'Names please?'

I am quite shocked at this point. What about the explanation we had rehearsed? I recover quickly ‘Oh yes yes.. Alpha.. Alpha Hydroxy and Distirani Firstclasswali.

He gets down to business. Writes down two certificates and slams them in front of us. I had bronchitis and Disti had viral fever. And in a mater-of-fact way he adds ’And that would be 20 bucks each.’

This was too good to be true. Is this guy an actual doctor? By now I was coughing violently and my friend’s eyeballs and tongue had popped out. Maybe she got the viral fever.

When we went guiltily to submit this form at the counter, we were surprised to find a huge pile of med certificates next to the peon- every single one bearing the letter-head of Dr. Shamu Pai. Our man seemingly had made a shit load of money that month.

Shucks! That would have been just 80 bucks more if I had spent my time more constructively instead of attending Electronics, Maths, Elements of Mechanical Engineering and what’s that other class again?

First week in college, I was making my way to the classroom one busy afternoon. A handsome baby faced guy accosted me near the stairs and kindly asked me the direction to the Chemistry lab.

Aha, A Freshie bakra! He called me madam! The fact that I was in my first-year and was equally lost was not a matter to fret about. Opportunity knocks only once in a day.

"Oh yes ofcourse! Very helpful nature I have. Just keep going straight and then you’ll have to take a right at the takloo principal’s office. Then keep going for 10 minutes. I know, huge college this is. Chemistry lab is in a different district. After that, you’ll see a Red sign and then you………."

The poor kid diligently wrote down the directions and went away almost breaking into a run. Must have been in a hurry. Hehe.. Hope he makes it today.

Next class was Chemistry, my most dreaded subject. Millions of C-H-O’s were muddled up in my overtaxed brain from my 12^th grade Organic Chemistry. Bunch of bull crap. What’s the chemical composition of crap again? I just hope we have a great teacher who pulls me out of this sad state and guides me to a Chemical heaven full of daisies and butterflies. See, I am open to everything.. even good Chemistry.

I was so caught up in self-pity that I didn’t notice my Freshie dude enter the class, panting. I look, he looks, we look at each other. Did I just see a smirk? My cover is blown. Yikes! He is going to be my classmate. Why did I have to be mean to him? Maybe we should just kiss and patch up. Me and you- Both Freshie Freshie. Same pinch and all!

I was about to walk up and ask him if he found the Chemistry lab and maybe talk about the horrid weather (and then maybe just add a sorry) when he went up to the front and wrote down his name on the black-board.

Dr. Crabby Chemistrywala, MSc. Phd., Chemistry

"Yes Students! I am your new Professor. And I would like to begin with some discipline in my class. Yes Miss! You! Did you just swallow Hydrochloric Acid! Go back to your seat I say!" he bellowed. Where was that docile creature I had met earlier?

Normally you would think, there would have been some Chemistry between us and with the class as a catalyst, we would have ended up making a perfect equation. But no, I was done for! The man gave me the hardest time ever. My classmates didn’t know why I was being picked on all the time, whether it was answering a silly question or tying Crabby’s shoelace. I hated Chemistry with a passion now.

That’s when I lost faith in Hindi movies.

Of my 3 months of blogging, I have interacted with many people, mainly through comment boxes. Relationships have been built and I must thank you people for coming by and mustering something to say even if was just a smiley. Believe me, its your comments that make my day and keep me going. Many people told me that my comment boxes are much more fun. Its true. Some of you have unique ways of voicing your opinion.

AmitL: LOL Twin. Amit types those two words first (in no particular order) and then thinks about some intellectually simulating funny thing to say. So he ends up asking a question which I would have refused to answer in the post itself.

Starfest: She has to sound mature and WILL NOT degrade herself by doing a ‘Hehehe’ or even a LOL.   So she’ll pick up something inane and stump the author, i.e. me. (I am not delusional, she's told me I am funny).

Yogi: He is busy as hell (doing what, only his kabootar would know). Plus he has got big community issues. He cannot just comment on my site without getting Star pissed. Cannot comment on hers without getting the rest of the bloggy babes pissed. He can’t please everyone (except his kabootar of course). So if he ever comes to my site, he scans the post as quickly as possible, picks up key words and leaves a comment that stumps even Starfest. So the babes are quite relieved that he doesnt come to their blogs anymore.

Patrix: He is still in the courting phase (with the goat of course). So his comments are devoid of difficult words the goat would otherwise fail to understand. If a day goes by without his leg (or other parts which Star would be familiar with) being pulled, its means the Nebular Galactic end is near.

Pleo: He sternly puts on his professor-like glasses, puffs his Italian cigar and coughs like Alfred Hitchcock. He tries to make an impact with his comments just like he does with his stories. Sinister, aloof and profound. Mind you this is a big exterior show. In actuality, he is a whining attention seeking Sindhi parrot which goes "Vadi Gah!" in the secrecy of his cage.

Jottingz: She is here to tell me that she has added the much awaited sequel to her drama. Darn! She has to read my post and comment on it before sliding in the advertisement.

Krithika: I am positive she has a dozen Vodka shots before commenting on my blog. Or has Luna Lovegood put a faulty spell on her?

EC: He just got back from gym after a session with his punching bag. Punch Bag won. So he takes a bit of his frustration on my comment board, sometimes talking in code language.

Heretic: He just stole Yogi’s kabootar and is quite charged up. Simultaneously watches Mallu porn on the side while commenting. Multitasking doesn’t go too well with him.

FillerMan: He still has nightmares of the proof-reading part of his dissertation. His paranoia shows in the comments too. They are thorough and intricately confuse the reader. They are a thesis by themselves.

Jill: Even she is running short of time what with spending all her time SMSing and writing mushy posts. She has no time to read posts. If I were a ‘Mua’ person, I would have seen more of her bubbly personality. But I have to be content with her LOLLOLOLOLOLLL.. which apparently stems from the fact that she knows I write funny stuff.. so there is absolutely no harm is LOLing without reading.

Sirpy: On Halloween night, while he was walking around trick-or-treating dressed as a chimp, he got possessed by Michael Moore and Osama bin Laden put together. And he mistook me for George Bush. I hope I steered him AWAY to the right person.

MWPG: Men with goats as pet will have nothing better to do than comment on my posts.

Again, its all for fun and I love you all. You may not believe it, but I do! Keep them coming.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with my name. Right now I am in the love phase. My pet peeve against my parent’s choice is that they did no back ground check on the sexual inclination of my name. In some parts of the country it is decidedly a guy’s name. And having spent a considerable amount of my childhood in such places, I had been scarred for a huge part. Every time I had to give out my name, be it in school or at a doctor’s office, people look in disbelief and go ‘Cluck cluck! Why didn’t your parents think of a girl’s name for you? Out of the million names, they had to choose this? Poor thing!’

The woman behind the bank counter wouldn’t let go. She thought I was suffering from temporary insanity. She kept suggesting derivatives and suffixes that would make my name sound girly and realistic to her. What did she think? That I forgot my own name? I was so exasperated that I started adopting false names just to wriggle out of situations. Venkatasubbalaksmi sure sounded delicate and feminine.

Oh well, the torture didn’t end there. The biggest nuisance of my subsistence was when I had a namesake in my class who of course was a freakin boy! And my arch nemesis to boot!

Every night at home, my parents were fed up with my lament. My dad would take this opportunity to blame my mother and insist that if were left to him he would have named me Vasavadatta or Babhruvahini. *shudder* Thank God for small mythological mercies. Those characters were good for bedtime stories only.

As a kid, I actually contemplated on a court name-change. Before that could happen, we moved to a different place where some kind people told me I had a lovely name. Those wonderful people couldn’t imagine guys having such a name. That did it. I was in love with my name again.

When I decided to move to the US for my masters degree, I was emailing this girl whom I wanted to share a room with. We had everything planned, decided on the stuff to be brought and even exchanged culinary details. Finally we met. Horror of horrors! I had been corresponding with a guy! He was equally stunned to see a girl! His name being Radha Krishnan, I mistook the ‘Krishnan’ to be the last name. And he was convinced that I was an adam-apple, nuts & banana bearing guy (Gee, you guys sound like a Diwali platter)! We didn’t room in together.

I have finally come in terms with my unisex name. Its a gift from my parents and I'll keep it. Its me.

My friend is marrying a girl called Jaideep. I can only fathom how her childhood must have been. Cluck cluck!

Nerdy Neelu comes home one morning all dressed up in a new jing-chack salwar suit. Wakes me up from sleep and gives me a smile that would disarm Vishwamitra in penance. I detect something fishy, but can’t point my finger at the right fish. I muster a sleepy smile. Then she joyously distributes sweets to everyone at home. I give her a confused look.

She looks at me amused,’ What acting, Alpha! Of course you knew its my Birthday today.'

The dreaded B word! Gulp! Of course I forgot! How the do I salvage this situation again. She on her part has never ever forgotten mine. I on my part have never remembered even a single birthday of hers/our meeting day/our friendship day/our first liking-each-other day. Why does God create such people? Even if He did, why does he place such people among my midst! Darn!

She usually unleashes unwarranted useless senti. I have made myself immune to all that. But sometimes, some of the sentimental talk does penetrate into my thick skull and I get all guilty. I feel soul-lessly inhuman.

But today, she seemed quite pleased and I couldn’t see the speech coming. I was even more perplexed. I was about to get into my ‘Sorry-I-forgot’ tirade when she giddily gushed,’ Thank you Alphu, for that sweet card and letter pad. I loved it! Anonymous indeed. I figured it was you! Who else will do something like that? U finally remembered my birthday. I am sooooo happy. Muaa!’

Murky thoughts prevail- Totally yikes! She thinks I sent her that! And she’s so elated about it. Do I speak the truth and come crashing down in her eyes? Do I spoil the day for her (and me of course)? Mr. Anon must be some nerdy fan of her Physiology notes. He will never come forward with the truth. He would be too shy. A waste of a good card and gift. Why, I’ll claim it for sure!

Clear thinking me, ‘Hehe, you figured out uh? Cool no probs. I hope you enjoy it and write letters to me with that once we part. Did you like the design, Nerdu?’

She runs to the phone. Calls her roomies and excitedly yells like Sherlock Holmes,’ See, I told you people. I knew I was right. Alpha sent me that card not that sick guy you were teasing me with.’

-the other line says something-

‘Yes, of course! She just admitted it!’

-the other line speaks more-

‘What!!? Really? You people? Gawd! Hmmm…..’

-click-

What followed after that is censored. She was kind enough to spare my life.

Today reminders pop up in my computer/calendar/phone/hubby’s palm/post-its on my forehead. I have even tattooed the date on my tongue.

Also I wrote this post to specifically remember to wish her tomorrow. May the the Gods of Memory be with me.