Pieces of the Puzzle

Patrix has done such a good job of describing our meet in Chicago, that I have very little to add. Saying thus, I shall go on for two pages.

The minute Yogi set his foot in my house, he attacked the existence of the poor unsuspecting ‘throw’ on my couch. All I can say is- Guys have no class whatsoever. Pi joined hands and they bitched about the concept of a ‘throw’ after which the ‘throw’ and Yogu became inseparable. If everything in the house needs to have a purpose, somehow you guys are not helping your case.

There was tight security and terror alert all over the country. Filler man knows (oh well, that’s a different story all together). Yogu and me hoped we wouldn’t get arrested in the airport carrying a banner that said "TINDA FROM BHATINDA" complete with little green tindas painted on the border. We picked up our Chhota P(atrix) and went straight to the Indian part of Chicago for lunch. It was a sign from above, a calling from below- in the lunch buffet, there was tinda sabzi! Frankly, I have never seen tinda in any lunch buffet in my life. Next we saw a heap of tindas in a grocery store. It was almost like we we were hallucinating. Yogu felt like buying some as a souvenir.

 Tinda                        Throw

Yogz started digging for praises immediately, ‘Patrixu, what do you think of me re? Do I fit your expectations? Am I sexy enough for you? What do you think of my opinion of the ‘throw’?’

Let me add here that Yogu was not born gay nor did he ever intend to. He always thought Starfest would rock his boat. He got converted after setting his eyes on Patrix. Yogu was taken by Pat’s dressing sense, his talent of touching his nose with his lower lip and his PJs (pajama with holes). Might as well admit, so was I Patrix.

Time to pick up Star. Each of us had practiced a routine that would be performed to perfection. As we greet Star, Pi would dig his nose. I would keep winking, Patrix would fall on Star every time and Yogu would be himself. This, we thought would really scare her out of her wits. By the time we got the placard (which is censored) out of the trunk, Star came beaming and bouncing towards us that threw us all off guard.

She had come prepared to seduce. Her sweater was shedding in clumps. There was black wool everywhere she went. In Yogu’s car, my house, on a random guy’s back. We were all reeling in anticipation for the whole sweater to finally come down to threads. Every night, she wrote something secretive in a diary which she kept hidden under my couch. You will always be a blonde, Star! *evil laff* On a side note, Canadians look down upon not only Americans but also Desis. We need to stop Hindi movie supply to these damn Canadians.

Just in case anyone was missing Lord of the Rings, Yogu and Pi made sure to keep us in the loop with their enacting various characters. Yogi was Gollum every single time with ‘his precious’ being Pi’s hair.

Patrix amazed everyone with his dire need to crack poor jokes (PJ) and stretching those jokes beyond repair. He said he was just getting started when we dropped him off at the airport. We were relieved or what!

Star on the other hand was very quite. If she said anything it was to show us how Americans flaunt their flags everywhere. Er Star, is there anything we should do about it? Well she also mentioned (while batting eyelashes) that she had a crush on Patrix, Yogu and Pi and didn’t know where to go from there. What about me, Star?

Yogu tried to win over Star and Patrix at the same time. He even brought coconut oil for lubrication. After pouring over the Kamasutra that was lying in my house (I have no clue how it got here), he wished he had elephant’s sweat instead.

Things I am thankful about. None of you turned out to be a serial killer. Yogi didn’t steal my ‘throw’. With your limited guessing skills, I am glad at least you all thought I was a spider when I was enacting a lizard.

Will have to meet you all again. Bachke jaoge kahan?

The initial years of my growing up were spent in a school outside India that introduced me to Christmas, Halloween, St. Patrick’s Day and Valentines Day. These holidays were much more fun than a bunch of Indians congregating for Diwali, singing songs. The lack of fireworks made Diwali boring as a kid. Christmas was something I looked forward to.

‘Amma, can we have a Christmas tree at least this year? Please please. Kim told me that’s why I don’t get gifts from Santa (almost in tears)’

In the most practical tone, my mom states certain facts that made a huge impact on my little mind,’ Alpha, Christmas is for people who eat meat. So if we keep a tree, will you eat Krishna’s cow? And Santa doesn’t exist. He is your classmate Jack’s dad who dresses up like that and fools all the other kids. Why do you need gifts from Santa when you get what you want all the time?’

Oh well, she did make a point. Was I the only kid who wasn’t getting fooled by Jack’s dad? I surely didn’t want to eat a cow but I still didn’t see why I couldn’t sulk. So I sulked.

My school decided to organize a party with Christmas carols, food, candy and of course Santa Claus. And Santa was to give every kid a gift! I was so happy!

What I didn’t know was the school was sneaky enough to send a letter to every parent to have them send a gift to the school. This would be presented to their kids by Santa himself.

Instead of taking the pains to do this discretely, my mom sent the gift through me to give it to my teacher. It was a silly pencil box which she bought when I was there in the shop. She even let me in this Santa deal at school. What?! I felt quite cheated. This whole Christmas thing was such a scam! Thank god for my mom, or I would have felt like a moron in the end and Santa would have had his last laugh.

The D-day arrived. The Big bearded red guy made a dramatic entrance to the background of Jingle Bells. Kids were apprehensive and excited about getting great gifts from their hero. I was bored and peeved about receiving a pencil-box from Jack’s dad.

"Next is Alpha!"

I walked up the stage and stopped near Santa.

"Ok sweety", said Santa’s elf, "Kiss Santa to get your gift."

"Yuck. Can I just take that pencil-box and go?"

Santa was quite flustered, "Ho Ho Ho! Been a bad kid, haven’t you?"

"So has Jack!" I snatched the wrapped gift and came running back to my shocked embarrassed parents. Every other person out there tried to get a nice look at our family. Their humiliation didn’t end there.

After the whole gift ceremony was over, Santa had extra presents for kids whose parents had forgotten to send any. He being the cool guy, asked those deprived loser kids to come one by one. I almost wished I was one of them. I thought about this for a second. Then I ran to the stage much to my parents chagrin and Santa’s amusement.

It was well worth it. This time I got a cool Lego set, much better than the pencil-box.

Merry Christmas you all! Oye Santa, I believe in you now. Just hurry down the chimney tonight!

I play with Pi’s hair and ask him nicely, "So Sweety, tell me 20 things you like about me".

Pi is like any other guy. He hates being trapped like this and tries to wriggle out in the most ungainly way, "First you tell me what you like about me".

I am like any other girl. I hate finding things not going my way with an unnecessary shift in limelight. But I still would like to hear those 20 things about me. So I play along, "20 things about you uh? Ok fine. You are sincere, intelligent- kinda, patient- sometimes, hmm… maybe caring, (think for a while) that’s it! Err…I cant get any more. Now your turn."

Pi smirks, "Let me make it easier for you. Gimme 20 things you don’t like about me".

Piece of cake! I rattle out 20 effortlessly. I had material for 20 more, if warranted. But then, I get the message and walk away grumpily. Next time I'll ask for 5.

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.