This is what memories are made of.

Many a soul skips by these quiet spaces nonchalantly, never a pause in the mind. Cruel time flies by; us - busy lavishing emotions on lands and faces beyond this timeless wrap.

And the silent halls will continue to deeply echo our silly fights and meaningless laughter, long after we are gone.

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Dedicated: Ethiraj College for Women

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.“Don’t worry about the election loss. The department will welcome you with open arms as its association secretary,” was the consolation a majority of people chose to give. And sure as hell, when college reopened, it happened. Apart from my senior batch missing in their class and absence of the persistent sound of familiar voices that always hung about in the air, nothing much seemed odd for a few days – until the freshers came along.

It only then dawned that I had to be there seat them in the auditorium for the first time for the orientation ordeal and I also had to take them around for the ‘college tour’ which in reality translated to showing them the way to the department and their classes, and whatever happens to be standing on the way. It felt very strange the way we had to tell them about rules like ‘mobile phones strictly not allowed,’ ‘Wellington plaza, Kanchi hotel and Spencers strictly out of bounds for Ethirajians.’ I had to suppress a chuckle by pulling on a straight face which very easily gave away the moment I met Shailee’s gaze across the room. 

After several attempts at trying to explain about ‘Aarambh’ and ‘Maithri’ and ‘Srishti’ and ‘Scrambler’ and several other details at once to them, we decided it was time we let them eat their snack in peace. Five minutes later, we were goading the enthusiastic bunch towards the auditorium, weaving our own versions of the history of the library, the hostels, the canteen and I even caught a friend raving about the how ‘special’ the soil around the basketball court was. 

Finally, after the first years from all the departments settled down, the cultural events by various college teams began. Harini finished the classical dance rendition. The college light music team came on stage next. They did their usual ‘Docomo’ tune sound check and the auditorium was roaring with cheers. A tiny lump formed in my throat. Indu then takes the mike and says that the next song they were going to render was very special to both the team and the college itself and right after that, my memory blurred and I was transported to a different time. ‘… this is definitely our second college song,’ the girl on stage says as the team breaks into ‘Aathangara marame…’ which had us screaming at the top of our lungs. Right after that followed ‘Please sir’ from boys performed as an acapella. I was trying to figure out which voice related to whose face and after a few moments, I just decided to close my eyes and listen to the entire rendition. I had goose bumps when the performance ended. ‘This is team Swasthik. We had Gayathri on the lead, Swathy on the vocals and the base guitar, Archana on the keys and this is Shruti,’ she said to another huge round of applause. ‘… we are team Mithra,’ Indu finished and I figured right there that this was no joke.

Samantha, the new college president takes the mike and asks the first years if they liked the performance to which they scream their approval. The sense of excitement is thick and very evident in the air. She announces that she would keep asking questions between all the programs and says that she’d start from the basic thing they had to know about the college. And just as she was saying it, I mouthed it right along with her, audible enough for Dharini, who was standing right next to me, to hear: ‘What is the college colour?‘  My eyes clouded right there and I turned to look at Dharini. In one breath we said it at the same time – ‘Apoorva.’

A million memories came rushing and tears were swelling up uncontrollably. Other friends who were sitting in the opposite side of the lower gallery bent forward to catch a glimpse of my face, equally shaken at the enormity of what was happening around us and the shock the slap of reality gave on our terror-stricken faces fresh. The same orientation programme that had happened when I had joined Ethiraj stayed fresh in my mind. The regular guesses of ‘purple’ and ‘lavender’ came along for the question about the college colour and I said to myself, ‘Mauve,’ picturing how Apoorva twisted her lips when she said that, laughing a tiny laugh to myself amid the tears running down my cheek.

I remembered all at once the white and pink salwar she wore during the first day of my orientation and how the entire Students’ union was in white that day, the way she would mime clapping, standing at one wing of the stage and how the auditorium would instantly burst into thunderous applause. The letter that I had written – out of pure admiration, I strongly add - which was very wonderfully read in the auditorium right there and the way people identified me as the ‘letter girl’ and the ‘Apoorva girl’ for a long time to come – I faced that question even during my campaigning sessions when people asked me why I had written it and what I had written in it. It annoyed me after a certain point of time, but at that instant, sitting in the auditorium, I was unable to conceive why I wasn’t among the general first year crowd, looking at the ‘Reflections’ themed dance and cheering for the Western Music team. Blurring again – Anjana. And her guitar.

Pradeepa, sitting in the chair beside the spot I stood, tugged at my t-shirt and jerked her head towards the first years who were seated in the rows in front of her. I realized that we had grown up way too fast and it was time that a new set of enthusiastic kids looked up to us as the secretaries and seniors. I gulped and hastily wiped off the stray tears and joined the cheering for the western team on stage.

There were times during the first couple of weeks of my final year when I used to walk to the union room, half-expecting to catch a chat with Srunika, Umapriya, Anupama, Meena, Ishwarya or Deepa. To discuss about sponsorships, about a departmental activity and about plans for other events. When I would ask Shailee if she was late because she was camping in the union room yet again. And when I would look into her eyes and we’d smile weakly before moving on to some other topic of discussion.

Getting over this terrible feeling that the years have run over us will probably take a lot more time than the tenure I have left at college. Final year. Already. Madness. But I guess there’s this one single year that is at my disposal as of now. Time to forget stupid fights, keep aside silly egos, spend quality time together, bunk in healthy intervals – for first day, first shows, for C&C visits, to roam about aimlessly at Spencers, to go window shopping at EA, to raid Pondy Bazaar, for the umpteen other shopping trips, for sleepovers and the deep sleep we plunge into when it dawns and for bunking just for the sake of it -  take more than enough pictures and make memories worth considering life to have been lived in. 

Someday, far into the future, maybe at least 5 of them would turn up for my wedding and I would have pictures to show my kid while explaining what ‘friends’ and ‘fun’ mean.

P.s: All the people whose names I’ve mentioned here and other seniors including my department secretaries, the Students’ union of the past 2 years, those in the different college teams and those who were an integral part of making those years very colourful and full of captivation, thank you. You have given me moments to cherish, reminisce and write about.

-       Just Someone.

Berty Ashley.

Dedicated: To my favourite Sooper-Hero!

It has been about 3 weeks since I first got the urge to do this post. I’ve always wondered what this guy is beneath all that trippiness. Secretly, I still wish that some day he would seel the rights to doing a biography about him to me. But all that apart, I wanted to write something for him and thought it might be special to do so on his birthday. But as luck has it with me always, I keep procastinating and finally when I make up my mind to do it, my compute dies.


So I met him a few hours ago and thoughts about him are still stuck in my head. This is one guy who can talk with you for a 5 minutes and keep you thinking about the tiny convo you had 5 days later. Ans just as I was walking back home, I was thinking about this long pending post and I knew I couldn’t resist the urge to write about him anymore. So I walk all the way back to the net centre and here I am, typing whatever comes from the top of my head.


After slogging off in NCC during my first year and nearly killing myself in the hospital, I was sitting in the auditorium a year ago, during the department association day, as clueless as the first years about what was happening. There is this guy on stage, conducting some competition, desparately trying to make a spellbee contest look interesting and draw the crowd’s attention. Something about his name kept ringing a bell in the head and I just couldn’t place it. I come back home and like every other time, log in straightaway to facebook. There’s a friend request from a school friend with whom I had lost contact a good 4 years ago; maybe more. In her list, I see this Berty guy and then, it all clicked. Vikaasa was the link!


Though I initially related him to one of my seniors and Madurai Vikaasa, I later slowly recollected how everybody from my school used to talk about him whenever they were wondering whom to approach for clarifications or help for issues ranging from events to food during Youth Festival. I used to wonder who this guy was and I also remember sprinting into a Berty-hunt on the last day of the Youth Festival in the last year I ever attended it. No, I didn’t see him.


A few days later, I get to talk with Elton, a school friend who had studied at Loyola and I tell him how this Berty was a judge at some event at college and he says, ‘Tell me about it!’ and narrates his experience of bumping into this guy at his college during a department association as well. A month later, I go to Stella Marris for Creative Writing and I hear the familiar voice, announcing that anyone who solves his crossword would get his entire Tintin collection. I run and click a picture of him and my friend uploads it. I tag him and he says, ‘Heyyyy! Why didn’t you just come and say hello?’ Mind voice: HUH? Yeah, right. Big personality this fellow. I will go say hello, it seems. And only he could’ve come up with a reply like this: ‘blah! chee go ya.. what nonsense.. please do not even hesitate to yell 'Oye berty wassup!!' from anywhere anytime :) and i how can i forget poet/blogger/college mag editor/ now photographer you?’


So that was how it started, more or less. Fun(da) should be his middle name. No one, absolutely no one can ever match his energy levels or hogging skills. 10 Chilly Cheese Toasts at a time, or was that record further high up? Whichever, you’re no match for Berty there. He is so effortlessly funny and even when he is narrating a tale of how the girl he liked later says that he is her best friend because he helped her find the love of her life in someone else, you can’t but help laugh till your stomach pains. And no one but Berty can come up with experiences of driving all the way from Madurai to Kodaikanal on a bike during a tea-break at college to have a 7 rupees ‘eruma paal tea’ [tea made from buffallo’s milk]. Seriously, eruma paal tea. Who else can look cool saying that?


Just about the time when I was having ‘Batman’ in my syllabus at college and when I started adoring the character for all that he is, I get to see that I am dealing with Batman himself. Bertman, the Batman, yeah. Of how he was the first person who came to my mind when I thought of asking for help to pick up a tagline for elections at college and the speech consequently, I have no idea. But there was something strong that bound me to him and the respect that grew further, looking at this guy and how he carried himself with all the weight that hangs around him. and how it would always remain special, the way he called up right after I finished my speech and how he called after my results and how it felt very fatherly, very comforting when he spoke whatever he spoke then.


At school, he was this big man who had the answers and solution to everything, the guy who everybody used to talk about. And suddenly, at Chennai, he is the judge I see everywhere, drummer, jammer, quiz master, first-name-google-able, co-founder of ASAP productions at the awe just grows everyday and the jaw just drops further down. And I know, someday, when I am teaching science to my kid, I’d be teaching about ‘The Berty Cycle’ and I would be fondly recollecting how I used to know this guy even before he became that famous and I am also pretty sure that it would have something to do with food. Also, his caller tune would go ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’


Berty Ashley. So I’ve been in this internet café for over and hour and I am still typing. It’s time for me to go home. The word count says it is a little over than one thousand. I still feel there is so much left to say. There’s a picture of batman in my mind, Berty. And though I am not able to put it down in words here right now, it’s pretty much close to the picture of you in my head.


Not like I have to say this, but be you. Be Berty. Keep doing everything you do. Even when you are are a million miles away, whatever you say or do keep spreading smiles to people like me out here. It’s hard to see you low. More than that, it is weird. Bertiness in you goes down then, you know. And I am just out of words, my head is blank and there I stand, clueless as to what to say to make you feel better, if at all, but still desparately hoping something magical would happen to get to back to being you. Write more often, Berty. No reasons. Just write.


Also, nothing can equal a big bear hug from you. Special you will always be. When you decide to let someone write a biography about you, let me be your first option, please? My co-authour says: Try bathing more often. :)


< Happy Belated Birthday, Dark Knight!
We love you like crazy!

*BEAR-BONE-CRUSHING-HUGS!* >

Co-authoured by: Srunika Kannan.


~ Just Someone.

[Photography Courtesy: Nrithya Randhir]

Girls like me.

I just got bored trying to find a picture of a okay-looking girl with short hair. Adjust. -_-

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-         Random is the word. That explains THE us and the post. Sorry. :) -

We still think that smoking and drinking is totally uncool.  We don’t see why we should be stuck with a guy irrespective of the amount of physical or emotional investment made in him if he doesn’t treat us right. A real man still opens the door of the car, holds the hand while walking – along the beach, while shopping, just standing, anywhere.

Virtual world is real. Sometimes more real than the real real. Socializing is cool. Cool until you start poking your nose into the lives of all my friends. And at times, it would do a great deal to fiercely bang your head with an iron rod to remind that the equation to ‘Us’ was you and me; not you and her. <supresses urge to say something further here>

We try something contemporary. Trendy dresses. Shades(?) Stuff. We  can be quite clumsy and mess it up more often than not. Dresses in light shades never manage to return to the washing machine in the same shade. Changes range from light brown to deep black. Never really eat an ice-gola without spilling enough of the colourful liquid all over us. Never find the right way to open a burger with the right side on top. Never figure out how to use the teeth to open a ketchup packet.

We could be suckers for something very silly. A drink. A chocolate. A colour. Varies. A song could make us cry and a rainbow, 6-coloured ones with the indigo missing (knowing winks at the special person) especially, wipe ‘em all away. Somewhere deep inside, we have a secret side that wishes to explicitly express itself to people we encounter – say what exactly we think of them. And there’s the other side that tirelessly fans out the tension and the electricity – if you get it.

Makeup never really finds the right reach in us. We killed it to a painful death long back when we were in our primary school. We always have something in us that not many people get to know. We sing, dance, mimic, draw, paint. We open up rarely and when we do, it comes out in a gush. If you’ve heard it, you’re staying alright. But pushing yourself away on your own doesn’t count in the calculation.

Your ‘inconsequential’ things can upset us a lot. Pay attention. Or get lost. The independent streak runs thick. The money factor can curl us up. Spending money NOT equal to impressing. Awkward. Just sitting next to each other in silence and still feeling perfectly comfortable is bliss.

Books mean a lot. The smell from old books. *wide smile* Photographs for memories. Scribbling random stuff next to them. Scrap books. Signatures. Having fun, dancing, jumping and screaming without giving a damn if anyone is noticing. Travelling. Absolutely enjoying the music and nodding the head along to match the beats while on a ride – bus, bike, car, anywhere. Genuinely believing that somehow, something will be better tomorrow.

Probably, there have been a lot of men. Probably there will be a lot more. But right now, if you’re in it, then we think that that is all that counts. Honest. Even a handshake might take a long time to come, but you know that we have our heads attached firmly to the senses.

Trying to ground us with accusations, past, pointing to mistakes and the likes never work. NEVER. We might flinch once. Next time, you’d come home to see the empty broken cage. Words can come flaring in. But there won’t be double-faced gimmicks.

We’d keep giving. Moments. Surprises. Love. Memories. They’re unending as long as you know how to – wait, no; not return it – receive it.

But once in a while, we could say a thing or two that’ll make your day and what we say would be specially intended for you and you only. And when that smile curves your lips, there can’t be a happier soul than the me standing in front of you and the ‘I love you’ that follows would have never had a genuine-er version. Isn’t that okay? 

P.s: I know that quite a few of you are thinking that I sound a lot like Linda Goodman. Honestly, right now, I think so too, although I really did not intend this to turn out to be like that. Fact is, I enjoyed doing what I did. And in the end, I figured nothing matters more.

If you have somehow reached here, congratulations! :D And good luck. I might decide to write a sequel to this. :P

Until again..

~ Just Someone.

[Photography Courtesy: THE Boss.]

Death by happiness.

Taken via Nokia N8

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Dedicated: :)

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I wasn’t sure what I was thinking about when I’d asked him if we could go to the beach at 4 in the morning. I did claim that I had wanted a photo walk there. It would be a wonderful chance for him to click a lot of pictures and rant about it. Well, I honestly did. And, I wanted to do it for the first time with him. After giving the idea enough thought, I realized that it would be brilliant if I could see the sun ‘rise’ with him. 

After a good flopped attempt at making this happen, we finalized on the date for the second try. I woke up 6 minutes late, despite my favourite song singing endlessly as the alarm tune. Just as I took the phone in my hand, he called me and woke me up. That should have been the indicator of the day ahead for me – EVERYTHING unusual. I showered and put on a casual shirt looked into the mirror. I could’ve easily passed off as the dead walking.

After about 20 minutes, I was standing at the gate of my apartment and he came. Without a word, I hopped on to the bike and off he zoomed. My hair was still wet from the bath and the cold morning air hit my face. I could feel the moisture on my head cooling off with the wind and the feeling was out of the world. The chill air stung my sleepless eyes and for some mad reason, I was smiling a lot. To myself.

Usually, when I am on the bike with him and we pass by a place that holds a memory for me, I end up giving the history and geography of the spot. For the first time ever, silence weaved itself through me entirely. I wanted to be quiet. To just silently absorb in every detail of the roads we were riding through. Or maybe, all I could think of was the time of the day it was, the cold wind, the bike, the man and my hand gripping his shoulder.

After about 30 minutes, I could see the beach visualize inch by inch. The early birds walking with sticks and wives, the bikes, the cement slabs, the sand and the waves. He picked up his camera and switched it on. It beeped: Change battery. Swearing a little and hyping a lot, he walked beside me as I could barely control myself from rushing into the water.

I stood by the shore, the waves softly lapping my feet. It was still dark. And as I stood there, the sky slowly kept turning a different shade every minute. The pink blush set in first with an orange tinge developing slowly. I could see the horizon appear and as far as my eye could see, there was plain, pure water. The waves dancing away and jumping on each other, trying to rush to me. It felt as though time was transporting me across the plains and I was standing in the middle of the sea. A sense of ulterior calmness washed through me and in a long, long time, I felt a peaceful silence take the centre stage within.

I looked back at him. He sat on a plank, carefully avoiding the water and still looking a little grumpy about the camera. HOW could someone NOT stand by the waves after coming to the beach. It always beats me. I came and sat next to him and suddenly realized that it was all bright. The sun seemed to be nowhere in sight and he kept demanding to see it. Like I was hiding it inside my pocket.

About 15 minutes later, he points in a direction and says, ‘Ha, finally the bloody bugger comes!’ I look and see a small ball of orange flames emerging slowly. That, I am sure was the widest smile I’d managed to put on naturally. I was seeing the sun ‘rise’ with him!

He spoke about random things. My mind was still on the silent mode. I was just listening. We decided to leave at about 7 and as we walked back to the cement slabs, I sat down to put my sandals on. He spoke about some girl in his life.

I remembered Nikhil after a long, long time. Somehow, I felt the urge to tell his story. When I was in my 2^nd std. Wearing a pink sleeveless and the white shorts. And how he had tried to kiss me and how I failed to understand what he was trying to do and kept trying to push him away. Weirdly, I still remember the combined smell of chocos and milk that hung about him, and how much I hated it back then.

Talking about it made me realize that I had opened up that story to someone for the first time. And it began. We spoke. And spoke. And spoke. Endlessly. The sun and the heat brought us back to reality and we drove back, had a tea and went to the park. We switched benches thrice. Only, the topics didn’t seem to cease. I was opening up my entire life history, and the guy told me his. One thing that touched me about it – it was honest.

After a few more hours and one more drink, he dropped me home. I literally skipped my way while walking. Strangely, I had spun myself around this guy. It made total sense and gave no insecurity to talk so openly about all the men in my life. Well, not all. Still. The wall clock at home said that it was close to 11. And I stood there, amazed, and wondered how he had tolerated me so long. Six hours! Easily, the best of my life.

Time plays a crucial role in our lives. Time in the duration sense. Time in a span sense. Time in every sense. How long it happens or when it happens. Or when it could have happened. And how very different it would have been! Pun intended.

The next time I think of 4 o’ clock in the morning, go to the beach, hear someone talk about the sunrise, go for an early morning ride or feel the wind wash against my wet hair, you know what I’ll be thinking of.

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P.s: To contact the author, try searching behind all the curtains, sofas and beneath desks and tables. She’s hiding somewhere, scared if someone will slap across her face and claim all of it to have been a wishful dream. #deathbyhappiness

~ Just Someone.

@ The Business Line, The Hindu. [Part -1]

                                                                         *dances* :D

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[I’m never going to say how much of I write is true and how much of it is an exaggeration. That’s for you to imagine. And absolutely no offense intended to anyone. I’m writing this because I love it that it is happening to me – if that makes any sense. I’m planning to write this as a series. The posts will get way too lengthy otherwise. AND, I’m hoping at least a couple of you out there will will the patience to read through! :D]

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At about 12:50 a.m on 02 May 2011, I called up a friend and stuttered that the internship date was there, staring at me already. As thoughtful as a person who is my friend can get, the friend asked me to relax and have fun at the office – it was going to be fine. ‘Have fun.’ I rolled my eyes and pulled my blanket closer, laying awake for another couple of hours before falling asleep.

With much drama like the Indian Cricket Team – which CSK has dutifully picked up now – the 5 of us[Raji, Vaishu, Pradeepa, Dharini & I] arrived at the last moment, at the exact strike of 3 (or 3:05 or 3:10 – according to the time zones our watches liked to function in), we stepped into the office of the Chief Editor. I recollected the urgent need I had felt to burst out laughing when I had first stepped into that office a couple of days ago – maybe it had something to do with the creepy silence that crawled on me and the little picture I made up in my mind with me sitting at one of those cubicles and clicking away in a useless drone. I reminded myself consciously to control that urge and tried to put on my best poker face. [There was a small ulcer on my lower lip that gave me trouble at managing a decent smile. I had tried some 5, 6 times in the auto to smile a look-able smile, all of which were patiently borne by Dharini.]

After Vaishu very dutifully wrote her house address in a box that asked for our designation (Intern only.; chill.) and the spasms she went through before she calmed down enough for the deep knowledge of striking it off and correcting it sank into her, JS [Chief Editor] took us around the office, fitting us with some able personas in different sections. “This is Mr. I-didn’t-catch-the-name, Chief Editor for the ‘Commodities’ page,” JS sir says as he assigns me to that section. I run a mental google check to see if I remembered seeing such a page on ‘The Hindu’, if I had ever bothered to read about the err... ‘Commodities(?)’

He patiently and very politely – yes! – asks me my name, the college I come from, the course I do, what I am interested in, my interest(?) in working with ‘The Business Line’ specifically [And it dawned on me that I was with ‘The Business Line’ and that was why I hadn’t seen that page before! – For those of you who are still blinking, this is a SEPARATE newspaper, Rs 4, A Hindu venture, all business stuff and those boring Nifty, Sensex, Rates, Production, Inflation and God-knows-what-else]. He asked me a lot of things and I realized after sometime that he was letting me settle into a nice comfort zone. I liked him. It didn’t take him long to realize that I was completely blank and he started explaining from scratch what ‘Commodities’ were, why such a page was necessary [shrugs], how our paper [‘our’ – sticks on you after a few days!] is special at delivering the best and the likes.

After a few hours, I realized that I was conducting a mini-interview session out there. He has 2 sons, the elder one having played in the U-17 cricket team and given it up for his love for making movies, the younger one was in 9^th std, he has a passion for writing, he very much enjoys everything he does, he loves his job, he thinks people should do only what they love to do. And, he had also managed to teach me some basic stuff, the working of the office, editing, procedure. He has a blog and as I tried to memorize the url, I read it aloud once: “Mister Subramani dot blogspot dot com.” “Umm… ‘Mister’ illa ma. It is ‘M’ ‘R’ Subramani. Those are my initials.’ With a sheepish grin and a totally innocuous observation of how it was so evident and stuff [Yay! I caught his name!], I try to concentrate on the first post on it, congratulating myself in my mind about the wonderful way I had managed to embarrass myself on day one.

In less than 2 hours he offers me to take a coffee break and as I hush a ‘I’ll be back in 10, sir!’ He laughs and says, ‘Take your time.’ After meeting up at the canteen, the 5 of us discuss and debate on the qualities and speech tones and nice-ity quotient of the people we are assigned to. I had really taken a liking to the man and my description of him made the rest want to eagerly anticipate their chance to work under him: Seriously! You can ask them.

With that glorious look on my face, I came back from the canteen after a good half hour and settled onto my seat when he said that he would be on an off for the next one week. The steam of pride simmered down. For the next few hours, I saw him editing a lot of articles and saw for the first time how a page was actually designed and the endless work that went into making it look like what we see on the paper every morning.  He kept explaining me why he made some changes and every time he did that, he did a weird knee-jerk-type-of-a-movement with his neck. I made a note to myself that it was probably an involuntary reflex that had settled in and stayed there for a long time.

The TV on top – nice, huge LCDs they were – were tuned in to CNN eternally and the anchors, continuously, relentlessly, tirelessly went on and on the entire damned day about the killing of Osama the Laden. I mean, okay. You managed to execute a top-secret venture to kill one of the world’s most-wanted terrorists, now the world is a (safer?) place, you have managed to do it finally and all and everything. But the entire day, seriously? And what were the TV guys thinking, anyway? They kept playing a re-run of the public opinions of even innocent joggers hailing from countries including the US of A to the little-known nations hiding on the globe, stubborn that they will be visible only if you put a magnifying glass on top of them. Obama kept flashing in his royal suit every 3^rd minute to make the announcement to the entire world and tell us that we could here after breathe more (safely?) et al. They ran special coverages from the birth of Osama, to his umpteen marriages, his children, grandchildren, what he did do, what he planned to do, what he tried to do, what he had managed to do, what he was thinking of doing, what the US had planned to do. [Facebook spams and viruses haven’t let Osama be yet, no? He is DEAD, people. Leave him in peace to rot in hell.] 

At about 9:30, the other 4 came and waited near the cubicle and MRS, the gem of the man that he is, offered to drop us a good distance if we didn’t find a bus at that hour. The Chief Editor. Asking me if I needed a drop home. Because there might not be enough buses available at that hour. With another innocuous sentence that tried to say ‘Thank you, but I’m good, but still thank you’, I left the office.

The humidity difference between the office and the outside was making a point on Dharini’s clouded spectacles and for the first time ever, a true sense of inquisitive happiness shot through me. I. am. working. [alright, alright – interning]. at. The. Business. Line. of. The. Hindu.

P.s: I have to mention. Wonderful people they are. Humility is just the word.

[… to be continued]

~ Just Someone.

                                       

The Missing Piece.

Dedicated to: They know who they are.

 

Irrespective of how much we are blessed in life, we always crave for something enough that we find a gaping hole in our hearts, because of that one aching wish we carry from our childhood to our graves. The intensity of the absence of the person, thing, situation or opportunity might be regulated by the compass of time that governs it, but the presence of that missing piece will always be in there, nevertheless.

Yes, I do have ‘people’ who love me crazy enough to talk throughout the night to keep me company, to be protective enough to be skeptical about the guys in my life, to turn up from miles away in short notice just to give me a hug on my birthday, send me a digicam from the other end of the country six months after my birthday as a belated gift, sit up late nights to do free professional service, discuss endlessly about cartoons and talk about the random-est of all things to divert my mind from a heartbreak after seeing The Men in Blue or CSK loose a match and practically take care of my entire frequency of writing, and keeping me in check . And so much more than what can be put down, actually.

But come to think of it: A rock solid mould of harmless and brainless thing, always tailing you, , pulling off your carefully made pony tail, making fun of all your favourite dresses, joining in a picture with you only to make faces and ruin it,  fighting with you for a chocolate he actually hates, steal food from your plate, yell at you like a cracked up case at every single mistake you do, bribe you with chocolates to make you maintain the code of silence to cover-up his super-human deeds, scowl and curse and dress your knee every time it gets scraped, try to pry into your secrets, call you names, wake you up in the middle of the night to scare you about ghosts, let you sleep on his shoulder on long trips (and short trips as well), buy you an unbelievably expensive hair-clip after you annoy the hell out of him, let you roam around the entire house all day in his abnormally huge T-Shirt, let the entire world know when you achieve something even remotely close to the consolation prize in a burger eating competition adding without fail that he strongly suspects you cheated, crush you in that bear hug more at times that you need [and not], do extraordinary deeds in public that are bound to embarrass and be the most irritating punching bag ever. 

Is there anything apart from this bugging but indispensible creature which can substitute in any of the above mentioned situation?

Counting my blessings sure does help, but – [read the previous passage again for reference]. That guy I can grown up with, shout at, order to, see married away under my supervision. Yes, Exactly. I try not to think so much. But seeing pictures like this don’t really help, do they?

  

The picture that filled and emptied my heart, instantly.

Yes, yes. I’ll keep trying. But all you pretty faces out there with an elder brother to flaunt to the entire world – I am so  over the 'saying "Oh, your'e so lucky"' phase; yes, I am Royally Jealous. And I will always be. Hmph.

P.s: Yes, this is very random. Might not make sense to a lot of people out there. But this time, I've written for myself. For the love of what I love. *period*

[Photograph Courtesy: Megha Patani]

-          Just Someone.

You. Happy Birthday!

Anirudh Venkat. You know why this picture? You look young. Nice. Paavama. 

AND, *Vikaasa* uniform. :) Btw, is that Raagav next to you?

----

Okay. What on earth made this guy to go out of his way and console me after elections? Now I am sitting here, trying to figure out a proper birthday gift within the tiniest budget that I have now.

What does this guy like?

BATMAN
Dark side of the moon
Pinky Floyd
Comics
Cartoons
Chocolate
Wilbur Sargunaraj(?)
Football
FOOD

And maybe he'll be happy if I make one crazy nonsense poem especially for him? And it has been ages since I even tried to make one and my vocabulary isn't that great, or great at all. And the black chart card and print outs… Money issues and time issue. And THE match had to be tomorrow! And the hall ticket giving ceremony also had to be tomorrow!!

AND, this guy has to act weird now. The heat, it seems! My foot! Just when I am waiting to get some money to top up for my number and call and yell it off, his birthday would have to come and I have to try to put up my best behaviour and be nice and all. Ha. Anirudh Venkat, you'll so pay for this!!

Batman is the coolest ever, agreed. But hey! I have watched only 2 movies and not read the comic strips and I have not really mugged up any of his lines apart from the one Berty gave me for my election speech. So knowledge here is practically zero.

The dark side of the moon.
I understood *&^$%@#%& out of the lyrics of that song. 

Pink flyobleahd. Rock music. Balh. No, blah. Rolls eyes and half-faints.

Comics. I wish.

CARTOONS!! Yes! Casper. Jetsons. Yogi Bear. Scooby Doo. Top Cat. Swat Cats. Tom & Jerry. Dexter's Laboratory. The Mask. Johnny Bravo. Ed, Edd n Eddy, Courage the Cowardly Dog, The Addams family, Atom Ant, The Road-Runner Show, Captain Planet, Looney Tunes, Cartoon Cartoons, Flintstones, Johnny Quest, Richie Rich, Josie and the Pussycats, Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm, Popeye, Powerpuff girls. THIS much I can relate to. But what am I supposed to do with that? Sigh. Major sighs.

Chocolate. Absolutely, chocolate. :) No, I really wish I could get you some nice thing. Like some huge, rich looking stuff I would die for. But the financial problems of India again.

Wilbur Sargunaraj. Okay. He's super cool. Louwe marriage and all. But that's where my profound knowledge of him ends. o.o

Football. Ahem. *Clears throat* Ahemmm. *Clears throat even more loudly*
Erm. Mid-fielder. Goal-ie, umm, centre player?
And how some guy, no, two guys can come and stand in front and the guy dribbling the ball cannot, well, pass it or kick a goal. Something very close to that, I bet. And, they get pretty tired, all those people on the field if they keep running across the field throughout the game. So they split and stand and well, kick the ball. And if it is near the goal-ie, quite surely goal, no?

FOOD! 
Yes. Best thing in life. 
\m/
[You. Are. Yet to take me out. So still no clue which is your favourite. 
No. Everything is your favourite. 
But still.]


So, what do I have in hand?
:(

One BIG sad face. 
One big yelling session pending for all your 15-min scheduled replies and sudden vanishings.
A clueless & bankrupt me.
And my poker face, waiting to wish you a very happy birthday.


P.s: I know I have murdered the descriptions of a lot of things that mean a lot to you. Or probably all the things that mean the most to you. But hey, come on, I tried! I genuinely did.

You. Love you. :)

- Just Someone.