When Jina had her list up, I had an inkling that my name would be there. Now, 25 things about me which people have not known is difficult. I usually talk a lot, and in that process, share a bit too much about my life too. Anyways, let me try now...
25. I don't know how to flirt. If a guy is flirting with me, I can not make that out either.
24. I love cooking. But I prefer innovating in the kitchen than trying the traditional/same old stuff
23. I have extreme anger. But I always keep it under check.
22. Often when people are mean/bitchy to me, I do not react as the first things that come to my mind are very much unprintable.
21. I had my first soft toy when I was 22. And my first story book when i was 3.
20. I love Kerala but I dont miss the people there.
19. I get high on the feeling of freedom.
18. I have bathophobia - and no silly, its not the fear of taking baths!
17. I miss the monsoon the most.
16. When I was a child, I was possessive of the sun as I thought it was named after me ( yeah, I am very humble.)
15. I love comics.
14. I get hyper afraid when I watch horror movies.
13. I am a creative liar. I once made a roommate belive that I was a mallu princess adopted by Christians. Making her realize the truth was more difficult.
12. I am very cynical of Disney cartoons. I blame it on an overdose of Terry Pratchett.
11. I have a pretty good memory about things that people tell me.
10. I dont like being cold at all.
09. I have a huuuge crush on Edward Norton.
08. I love playing mind games.
07. I go awww... more often when I see dogs than when I see kids. Them I see as little individuals.
06. My first pet was a cat her name was Pussy after the cat in the nursery song about Pussy cat going to London to meet the Queen. I was one then.
05. I learnt to read at three. I used to read the children's books at that age.
04. My favorite drinks in the world are neembu paani, morum vellam and tequila shots.
03. I only get drunk with people whom I am comfortable with.
02. Growing up, I was a communist/socialist. Now I am a hardcore individualist.
01. I open up about many things in my life so that I can turn your attention away from what I want to to hide from you. Till now, the success rate has been 100%.
And I tag...
Nikhil
GG
Saji
DD
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I will tell you one, and you tell me another...
Many of my friends do not read fiction. They are exclusively non-fiction readers, who read to know, to think and to understand. They take a look at my book collection and change the subject. Archie comics are not great conversation starters except with 20 something females.
But they love to hear stories. Whenever I bond with my friends, it is over a story. It could be from their lives, from mine, or the stories from the life of a friend of a friend or a story that they have seen or heard, in turn.
Meeting with old friends always turn into story telling sessions. We ask about the major characters, do not forget the minor ones and listen to the introduction of newer characters. Some stories are left unfinished - or rather, they find their endings in limbo. And together we weave our stories of what was, what is and what will be.These are relationships that keep us strong, these are the stories that make us who we are. Sometimes we walk away from those stories, disowning the other characters, but we do remember the stories, and use them for our own How-To, and more often How-Not-To maps.
Meeting new friends is different, very much so. Each story that they do tell is like a tiny step that a very vary and very injured bunny take towards you. You never know how to react, you curb the instinct to reach out and touch it,as you will scare it away. You want to help, you want to be there, but trust has to be earned, stories have to be told, and all the time you have to keep in mind that the bunny may eventually go back into the wild. And you share your stories too, wondering if there is a common thread, and then realizing that a common thread, while bonding the stories together, is not necessary in itself. Transient relationships have a peculiar beauty of their own, something that you can never find in the comforting blanket of enduring friendships.And you will never know; until many months and many years have passed as to which of the new ones will metamorph into a beautiful butterfly and fly away, and which of them will be the bold squirrels who stick around and follow when you walk through the park.
And that brings us into unfinished stories. Some relationships are left halfway through. You never know why that friend never called again or why the other one wanted to end it all. You can never understand why this one changed so completely and why another one did not.Often, the unfinished stories are the ones you think of in completely random moments in your life, and slowly give up trying to figure out. You stop wondering if they were butterflies whom you thought were squirrels or squirrels who eventually moved away because you did not extend a hand.
So friends of old and new, friends to be and former friends; let us sit down once in a while, and just tell stories for a few laughs, shocks and tears.
It will be fun, I promise.
But they love to hear stories. Whenever I bond with my friends, it is over a story. It could be from their lives, from mine, or the stories from the life of a friend of a friend or a story that they have seen or heard, in turn.
Meeting with old friends always turn into story telling sessions. We ask about the major characters, do not forget the minor ones and listen to the introduction of newer characters. Some stories are left unfinished - or rather, they find their endings in limbo. And together we weave our stories of what was, what is and what will be.These are relationships that keep us strong, these are the stories that make us who we are. Sometimes we walk away from those stories, disowning the other characters, but we do remember the stories, and use them for our own How-To, and more often How-Not-To maps.
Meeting new friends is different, very much so. Each story that they do tell is like a tiny step that a very vary and very injured bunny take towards you. You never know how to react, you curb the instinct to reach out and touch it,as you will scare it away. You want to help, you want to be there, but trust has to be earned, stories have to be told, and all the time you have to keep in mind that the bunny may eventually go back into the wild. And you share your stories too, wondering if there is a common thread, and then realizing that a common thread, while bonding the stories together, is not necessary in itself. Transient relationships have a peculiar beauty of their own, something that you can never find in the comforting blanket of enduring friendships.And you will never know; until many months and many years have passed as to which of the new ones will metamorph into a beautiful butterfly and fly away, and which of them will be the bold squirrels who stick around and follow when you walk through the park.
And that brings us into unfinished stories. Some relationships are left halfway through. You never know why that friend never called again or why the other one wanted to end it all. You can never understand why this one changed so completely and why another one did not.Often, the unfinished stories are the ones you think of in completely random moments in your life, and slowly give up trying to figure out. You stop wondering if they were butterflies whom you thought were squirrels or squirrels who eventually moved away because you did not extend a hand.
So friends of old and new, friends to be and former friends; let us sit down once in a while, and just tell stories for a few laughs, shocks and tears.
It will be fun, I promise.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I have been...
Making good progress on my new year resolutions.
Watching some good movies.
Making some new friends, and rediscovered old ones.
Falling in love with snow. The bright white, the light flecks, the taste of winter on your tongue and tickling on your feet.
Snow also brings with itself slippery slopes which make you fall in the most undignified way possible. Snow wets your feet when it is even half degree above zero. Snow looks dirty and ugly when it is swept to the sidewalk and when peed on by dogs and drunk people. It sticks to your shoes and creeps inside the apartment, bringing dirt and grime with it.
It kills any green shoots that try to brave it. It works with viruses to confine me inside my apartment.
But when you wake up one morning and find snow falling quietly, covering everything under a cosy white blanket, you fall in love with snow all over again.
Watching some good movies.
Making some new friends, and rediscovered old ones.
Falling in love with snow. The bright white, the light flecks, the taste of winter on your tongue and tickling on your feet.
Snow also brings with itself slippery slopes which make you fall in the most undignified way possible. Snow wets your feet when it is even half degree above zero. Snow looks dirty and ugly when it is swept to the sidewalk and when peed on by dogs and drunk people. It sticks to your shoes and creeps inside the apartment, bringing dirt and grime with it.
It kills any green shoots that try to brave it. It works with viruses to confine me inside my apartment.
But when you wake up one morning and find snow falling quietly, covering everything under a cosy white blanket, you fall in love with snow all over again.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Being practical v/s. Being environmentally minded.
When people talk about recycling and using less resources...
I think back about my childhood.
Where we diverted the water from the bathroom and the wash basins to the garden.
Where clothes were handed around the extended family.
Were books were - story books, text books - handed across families and friendships.
Where old magazines, old milk covers and newspapers were regularly brought by the 'akrikkadakkaran' ( meaning junk buyer in English)
Where pickle and jam jars were used to store spices, where extra jars were given away to neighbors in need.
Were most of the cooking was done on stoves using paper and deadwood as fuel. Where the dried coconut rinds were used to heat water, cook rice and make curry. The ash was used to wash utensils and shine brass and as a fertilizer.
Were plates were either made of clay or steel. Broken clay-pot pieces were used as boundary for the garden, dented steel utensils were exchanged with the shopkeeper when we brought new ones.
Where plastic covers were reused.
Where jute thread used to tie the grocery wrappings were reused.
Where when traveling, a plantain leaf was cut, lightly boiled over a fire and used as a taste retaining food wrap which can be thrown away anywhere.
Were cats would eat the leftover pieces of fish and meat.
Where the kitchen waste went to the compost heap.
Where my dogs provided the nitrogen and ammonia elements needed for the garden - we never used any chemicals in the kitchen garden.
Where broken pieces of glass were collected and used by people as wall decoration.
And broken bangles and random beads were used for craft sessions.
Yes, my parents generation did recycle and were environmentally minded.
But they called it being economical and practical.
May be, just may be, in the so called third world countries instead of starlets urging people to go green and high priced organic produce on the stores,
Someone ought to go to the people and teach them how to be practical.
Just a thought.
I think back about my childhood.
Where we diverted the water from the bathroom and the wash basins to the garden.
Where clothes were handed around the extended family.
Were books were - story books, text books - handed across families and friendships.
Where old magazines, old milk covers and newspapers were regularly brought by the 'akrikkadakkaran' ( meaning junk buyer in English)
Where pickle and jam jars were used to store spices, where extra jars were given away to neighbors in need.
Were most of the cooking was done on stoves using paper and deadwood as fuel. Where the dried coconut rinds were used to heat water, cook rice and make curry. The ash was used to wash utensils and shine brass and as a fertilizer.
Were plates were either made of clay or steel. Broken clay-pot pieces were used as boundary for the garden, dented steel utensils were exchanged with the shopkeeper when we brought new ones.
Where plastic covers were reused.
Where jute thread used to tie the grocery wrappings were reused.
Where when traveling, a plantain leaf was cut, lightly boiled over a fire and used as a taste retaining food wrap which can be thrown away anywhere.
Were cats would eat the leftover pieces of fish and meat.
Where the kitchen waste went to the compost heap.
Where my dogs provided the nitrogen and ammonia elements needed for the garden - we never used any chemicals in the kitchen garden.
Where broken pieces of glass were collected and used by people as wall decoration.
And broken bangles and random beads were used for craft sessions.
Yes, my parents generation did recycle and were environmentally minded.
But they called it being economical and practical.
May be, just may be, in the so called third world countries instead of starlets urging people to go green and high priced organic produce on the stores,
Someone ought to go to the people and teach them how to be practical.
Just a thought.
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