Done with the mush... enter the kite syndrome

It is time now to move on into the story that had made me come back to my blog again and again. Indeed the story has moved on. And one would like to begin that part of the story with an observation and a theory.

It is a funny observation that one makes when one looks around and sees the number of smitten people around. Do not take yours truly to be a cynical fool (not by a least chance) by reading the last statement. But what happens when smitten becomes serious and life no more remains smitten at all?

They wanted smitten-ness in their lives, but ended up being what they very modern-ly would like to term as ‘companionate’ (marriage).

One would like to call this a kite syndrome where there is a villain and a victim. One understands that this is immensely confusing for the readers, but hang on while I explain this in kite language. And so, before the kite could overcome the choppiness in the weather and encounter a smooth take off, it was suddenly hurled high up in the air. It gasped and sputtered and went around in complete circles as the whole world went into a topsy turvy rigmarole and  what not-ness. Then whoosh came a sudden gush of wind and everything became steady, momentarily though (victim of course is unaware of it all). And just when it thought that it could spread its wings and soar up into the open, there felt a strong tug that brought it right back to where it was hurled into the air from. It could soar but only far enough as the string reached. Now I’m sure it didn’t take long for you, dear readers, to figure out which one is the smitten turned companionate and which one is the villain in the guise of a family. And hence the entry of the villain family in this drama.

So, all was fine and hunky dory until the villains (to their whole smitten-ness) entered the scene and the drama reached a new high. It made them realize one thing very solidly that it is very loverly to take responsibilities and yet that same responsibility became claustrophobic when it was forced. They had a fast forward version of the whole forgetting the world around, the depleting bank balance, the wistfulness, the jibes from friends, the whole meeting the family, the trip together. So much so that it became difficult for them to keep track of things. Laid back as they both were they did not like being pushed around to doing things that were completely against their skin. It turned them into rebels without a cause.

Now they are in desperate need of a cause.

Since it's been a while...

Since it has been a while (and which was surprisingly pointed out from one unexpected end) I come back to the blog on a day when I am feeling least at home and missing the one place where diwali was a lot more than just lighting diyas and bursting crackers. While the former did happen (and which has also contributed to the innumerable photographs that a certain Aby Abraham never got tired of) the latter was not felt necessary. Living away from home diwali initially meant walking uninvited (coz invites were considered offensive when the door was open to all and the food never actually ran out) into the friendly prof's house and gorging on some really yummy food. Over the years, the guests became the hosts and one of the few 'happening' party planners where the cooking started in the morning, continued till the guests pulled them out of the kitchen, or worst still, were actually hurled into it if they ever made the mistake of knowing better than the know-it-all cooks. The dangerous-if-kept-anywhere-near-the-kitchen souls were held at bay with either a cam or the sweets or the internet. 
While I am writing this very post, there one soul who is feeling as much left out as yours truly and there are five others who are trying to sound as if the whole place is as loud as it was these last few years. Trying not to sound this as an obituary but rather a memorabilia of a life well lived with no regrets, I join the hosts of this year in spirit, who for the first time I am guessing are not worried that the food might not be enough.
Here are some of the glimpses from the past:

The title is NOT "First One Down"

Would have loved to call this post "First One Down" but then don't really want to sound all that senile just yet. Life is still young and the world is yet to be driven up its walls by the bunch of us. But then just to break it to the blogger world (not that anyone here is new and is not already in my various other social networking circles but then I want to blog and hence I do it all over again here) my first and oldest roommie, Amritha, got engaged this week, bringing all the rest of us too close to that danger mark. There are some who might be thinking otherwise, but to be honest, being on the wrong side of a quarter century, with the awesome luck of having had to come back to one's own city, life is not all that colourful. Of course, trying not to be the prodigal child, I do accept the healthy homemade food (which again is not helping me in my struggle against the ever increasing midsection of my torso), the cheap accommodation, the free internet and television. But then one is but forced to say that one would be more than glad to drop it all and rather be a visiting member of the family (if there is at all some such thing in this awesome world) once in a while.

When I was a kid I used to wonder how all mothers say the same thing and would also, given the brilliant brain that I was and still am, come to the conclusion that they must have all studied in the same (bloody) school (the last parenthetised word is of course a much later and grown up addition). I must say, quarter of a century down the line, I think I am still going to say the same thing with as much conviction (may be even more now) as I did back then. Now if I plunge into the whole 'what-happened-why-am-I-saying-this' yarn, I think I might as well start a whole new blog for that. Well, to be honest, it is not that we (yours truly and crumbs) don't have a project like that in mind, but that is for laters. This post, like most of my other post is about the all important announcement that I wanted to make about my friend Amritha and ended up saying so many other random things as well. Hence, I shall stop now and right here.

contemplations and life. again!

...am wondering whether I should finally go first person now...

And the story continues...

So continuing with the story which I thought I will hand over to the more 'experienced' ones, I come back to the two star struck lovers (?) who are not so much struck by the star, but has settled down quite well. It's been a year and I rejoice as much for them, but more because I get  a single room for myself at a fairly regular interval. Keeps me happy and everybody else around! So from the initial syndromes (you can find them here) to the meet-the-parents, to house-hunting, to cooking (by someone who is best kept outside the kitchen), to partially moving in. The story has indeed moved on. 
So the kid who was a disaster in the kitchen has graduated to holding her ground quite well even when it comes to cooking single-handedly - not to mention the mother amusedly complaining about how she cooks only for 'him'. Well of course, here comes the moment when both of them would go straight and plunge into the whole disclaimer bit. (I regret the others who are completely lost what I am speaking about, so I expect some of my readers to help each other out). But then thanks to this development, we the lucky souls, have been treated with various forms of bhindi and chocolate cakes. 
But since most of my entries pertaining to this has been about the supposed 'outcomes' here is a list:

• The extra long hair that gave competition to not just her but all her friends is now gone.
• The facial hair is missing (even if it is only for a few days).
• Left wondering whether the students were laughing at the above mentioned sudden change or the "Tumhein kuch nahin pata" written on one's feet.
• Five minutes is never five but a whole lot more that comes in between ;)
• Promises of working inevitably broken by the (obvious only to the others around) 'stay overs'.
• The roommate is greeted in the morning by a roommie in yet another unfamiliar t-shirt.
• The increasing pile of work and yet the utter disregard to it all. After all... :)
• Bhindi features more - even on the others who share the food.
• Everyone has someone to bully and wink to get stuff from Sitaphalmandi.

But the saga continues for the depleting bank account, the whispered phone calls at night (oh the inconveniences of having an insomniac roommate!), the taking-interest-in-things-that-never-hit-your-radar-before, the digging of one's own grave, the whole experience of the moment when the rest of the world suddenly vanishes into oblivion when you both are there together, the extended meals, the wait…

Thrown back into this world

And so when I thought that my activity in the blogosphere has most certainly become unexplainably low, I am thrown back into it by two non-rockets non-scientists who think that "the food on rockets is REALLY bad!" ... yes that's exactly how their blog subhead reads.
As for my part, I have earned the copyright to some of the photographs that they are going to use. Now the real story behind that whole copyright thingy is the result of both the non-scientists' effort at trying to keep me as far as possible from the point of action, for obvious precautionary measures that one should take if they are hoping to keep the sanity in the atmosphere intact. Hence, they let me have my fill in the food-making process by taking photographs as I wished. Who would have known that precautionary exercises would one day bear fruit in the lives of two non-rocket non-scientists...

Lines written in a whim

The silence of the night is broken by the faint melodies of songs of yesteryears, while the trains chug by in the distance. They are the dark shapes making their way into the darkness, their paths lighted by a straight ray of light that gets thrown into the distance. And suddenly the music stops and there is sheer darkness and the silence of the night overpowers the quietude. The crickets carry on with their banter and the big brown moth desperately tries to enter the room through the slit in the ventilator. Sounds of laughter come from somewhere and the night is told that it is not yet time to sleep.