New post, update, or why you shouldn’t unfollow this blog

I finally quit Twitter a week ago (or, we are on a break), primarily to make time for important things in life, which in this case is apparently this game called Ruzzle. Which basically means that all that time I spent scrolling down my timeline to respond to snarky, smart-ass tweets, and at times come up with snarky, smart-ass tweets myself, is now dedicated to making as many words as possible in under 2 mins on a 5×5 grid of alphabets. My competition is my little sister, and my scrabble comrades of yore, though the latter haven’t been much of a competition lately.

Anyhow, one of the primary reasons of getting rid of one enticing form of social media was to be able to concentrate on the other, much older counterpart, the blog. Which unfortunately, I didn’t, till now, when I ended up reading some extraordinary posts that motivated me to step up to the game again. The point is, I am not in dearth of time really, unlike before, when I hardly had me time. Zo, starting full time school has meant about 3 hours of extra time each morning for me; which I am pretty aware that I am not utilizing well.

Picture this. I am now usually up by 6:45 AM, which is torture in itself, but for some weird reason isn’t hurting as much as I would have thought it would. Add to this the fact, that I’m never in bed before midnight, and if you were to go by my Jawbone statistics, have a pretty broken sleep pattern. Despite all this, I wake up bright, fuelled by The Dude’s ginger chai (which I don’t think I can live without anymore), and set about with the morning chores of getting Zo up, about and out by 7:45 AM; which is when the house settles down in an eerie sort of calm, like that after a storm has passed.

And this is when the 3 hours start – my 3 hours. Let’s keep one out, which is how long I think I need to get ready, breakfast time included. What do I do with the remaining 2 hours? Seriously, what all I could do with the 2 hours! Theoretically, a lot, but when it comes to actually doing something, the situation is different. 30 odd minutes are spent idly staring at phone, checking whatsapp updates, responding to some, checking Twitter updates, responding to some, searching for a new way of saying work sucks, weekdays suck, travel sucks or something similar – on whatsapp and Twitter, and of course, more recently, playing my turn in Ruzzle for the 10 active games.

Then I follow it up with some serious contemplation around – ‘should I go back to sleep’. This is another 10 minutes, one might say. If the end result is yes, which it is, in 90% of the cases, I fall back on the bed, draw the curtains closed, and instruct the Dude to wake me up in an hour – to which he responds to with a look of disgust. In the 10% cases I decide otherwise, I sit on bed, doing yoga-ish stretches, and giving random updates on life and work and travel, which are already up on social media, to The Dude.

Somehow, whether I sleep or choose to rant and stretch, we miraculously hit 9:45 AM, my alarm to get ready because God forbid I get later any than this. There is a mad rush, and every single day, the breakfast is wolfed down in precisely 5 minutes, the last 5 minutes I am allowed to spend at home before I call my Uber, along with a sincere surprise around just how fast time seems to pass! And then of course comes by favorite part of the day (installment 1), the long cab ride to work.

I am actually not sure how better this time can be handled. It is pressurizing, to say the least, to have this time on hand, and not be able to use it well, because now you can’t even complain about just how less time you have on hand for yourself, because you do. You just don’t know what to do with it. Ah, such are the dilemmas of life.

But for now, I shall concentrate on the good, which is the fact that I actually have too much of a cherished thing, time. Because knowing Murphy, it wouldn’t be long before I make myself this entire list of hobbies, activities, things-to-do, and he very cruelly snatches the prerequisite away. The former scenario is so much better than the latter.

Because when you have so much to do, so little time, it sucks. But when you so much time, and nothing to do, you can always sleep. And we all know how good I’m at that.

Panther – Book Review

More often than not, when you pick up a book by a particular author in quick succession to last one by him/her, which you raved about, you’re ever so slightly let down. Atleast that’s what has happened with me in the past. And that’s what I was afraid of, when I picked up Panther, by Chimmi Tenduf-La, within a month of having read and reviewed his last book here.


Panther, tells the story of Prabhu, a teenager who is brought into the glamourous world of elite schooling, clubs and partying, and most importantly, into the world of cricket, owing to his tremendous talent in the game.  Along with Indika, rich, suave, and also a good player himself, Prabhu lives a life of a regular teenager, something he has always looked forward to. Because Prabhu has a murky past, and has seen more pain in his childhood, than most see in their lives.

The book seamlessly shuffles between the past and the present, written in different styles, demarcating them clearly. The past is dark, and the author hasn’t hesitated in bringing forth the rawness, the gore, and at times it hurts to read, and think and imagine what the child is going through. But amidst all the happenings, the focus remains on Prabhu, his emotional turmoil, his determination, his positive outlook and belief that eventually things would get better.

The present is more relatable. You root for him, as he weaves his way through the ups and downs of regular teenage life. For me, his friendship with Indika was a highlight of the book and I loved the relationship they share. There are other important characters that impact Prabhu’s life, both in the past and the present, and they range from amazing, awesome, to downright disgusting and horrible but then we cannot complain because every story needs its fair share of antagonists as well and what matters is they get what they deserve. They do, to some extent, thankfully.

The book is a smooth read, and for me it’s a positive one. Considering we have two stories running in parallel, the screen time each gets sometimes seems a bit less, you tend to want a bit more on what happened, how it did, and what was happening. But I am assuming getting all that detail in one book, and yet keeping crisp might not be the easiest of tasks. That being said, Prabhu will be a character I will remember for a long time

Thank you Chimmi, it was a pleasure reading this book, and hope you write a lot more. Perhaps even a sequel to Panther?

Not a Mother’s Day post

There was this primary school I attended for a year in Class 4, because my Dad’s job transferred him after the session started, and this is all we could get into. It was a good school, a good year, and I still have friends I am in touch with. My mother would then come to pick us up, me and my sister, then in class 1, each day, in a shared auto from 8 kms away. And we would go back the same way.

The school, in its waiting area had this very famous quote about mothers displayed. ‘God couldn’t be everywhere, so he created mothers.’ I used to love the quote. It made me feel all warm and safe, because hey, if this was true, mommy was always watching us, protecting us, and could solve every problem in the world.

Today, 24 years later, after having been a mother myself for 3 years, 7 months and 20 days, the quote annoys me. What was one quote back then, today is millions of shares, and forwards floating around the internet and Whatsapp groups, all claiming just how amazing this mother person is, and just how she is to be revered, because she is more than your normal human being, she is a super-human, whose life is dedicated to make your life beautiful. It annoys me because, the truth is, no, she is not. I am not.

There is a particular forward, which talks about pregnancy, about how a mother foregoes her body for 9 whole months to be able to take care of you, the pains she goes through, the nausea, the restrictions, the entire package. And how you are eternally indebted to her because how absolutely generous does one have to be to be able to do something like that? Give up all her comforts, for YOU to be comfortable. Conveniently overlooking the fact that YOU are a decision she took, because she wanted you.  I think back to the 9 months I was carrying Zo, and all I think of is how happy I was. Because I was going to be gifted at the end of these 9 months with a baby, that I wanted, I chose to bring to this world, I needed to have. My child. Why in the world is my child supposed to be thankful for something I decided to do, and that is designed by nature? Very frankly, by taking care of everything that is good for the baby while carrying it, I wasn’t doing the baby a favor, I was doing myself a favor, because I chose to bring this child to the world, I might as well do it properly!

Then this other forward where a woman is walking in the rain, and has an umbrella which is protecting only her child. Tagline “Only a mother can be so selfless, salute to this mother, hit like if you agree.” I really wonder that if you were walking down the road with your neighbor’s 3 year old kid, and it starts raining, will you not give your umbrella to the kid. Question next, do you think the father of the kid wouldn’t give him his umbrella? Or for that matter, the chacha, tau, maasi, maami?  Would that be acceptable because they are not his ‘mother’? Because trust me, if my kid is out with anyone I know, they better give her the umbrella or I will ensure they are bonked on their head upon their return.

And as if this were not enough some of the forwards go ahead and claim that “Only INDIAN mothers can be this selfless” because, of course, by that equation the west is full of evil women who let their children soak in the rain because their make-up would be ruined. Annoyance is an under-statement here. And so no, I don’t agree with any of these glorifying comments, and no that doesn’t mean I do not have any respect for mothers. I just think that there is something called as exaggeration and this might be a good example of it.

The point is, while these quotes and comments and statements are meant to give mothers the importance they deserve, or remind the folks to revere their mothers because they are just so surreally awesome, what they do, is create pressure; pressure on normal women like me, who are forever struggling to multitask – trying to do justice to their jobs, their husbands, their kids, and their own interests outside all of this. Women who love their children, but think it is ok to have a life beyond them. Women who think being a mother is rewarding, but it is also exhausting, tiring. Women who miss their kid the moment she leaves for school, but wishes for a kid-free hour every day. Women who love listening to their kid’s chatter, but at times hand them the I-pad because Oh My God some silence is due. Women who are normal, women who are human, women who are mothers, but also so much more.

Because quite frankly, I am not sure if being thought of as God by your child is actually a nice thing. God can do miracles, but God won’t get annoyed and complain about the kid who bullied you in class. God will protect you from all harm, but God won’t discuss your crushes and heartbreaks with you. God will not support you in all your decisions vocally, and then chide you for being a sissy when a decision goes wrong. God will not make mistakes, God will be too perfect, and staying with someone like that can get very boring. A mother on the other hand can be your closest friend, your trusted confidante, your partner in silliness, a good advisor and an awesome ‘person’ to be with. Person, not God. Mine has always been one, and I like her that way.

And that’s pretty much what I aim to be for little Zo too; not a virtue more, not a virtue less.

I have decided to write today

I am writing for myself, because you know that’s how it should be. What also helps is the fact that this time; my sabbatical might have anyway ensured that I have no readers left. And if you are wondering if this is an underhanded way I’m trying to get you to drop a comment or say hi (or present ma’am), you couldn’t be more correct.

My last post, that was not a book-review, was in January. Today is May. Tomorrow and day after is also May, but then Monday isn’t May, it is June. Why this information is absolutely important is that, it makes me sound less pathetic. June is like half the year has passed, no one will care if it’s the 1st of June, and there is still a month for the half year to happen, they will just be like, ‘Oh My God you wrote when we entered 2015, and now you are writing after a whole half year has passed? What’s wrong with you?’ In case you are wondering ‘they’ are those ardent readers of mine, who just cannot wait for me to post, and check their reader every day to see if I have updated. ‘They’ exist. I think. I hope. I wish.

Yeah, so that is the reason why I am writing in May. Otherwise, quite frankly, May sucks big time, it’s like the worst month, and with summer behaving like no one cares for it so might as well ruin everybody’s lives in this slot that is reserved for it. Though if you are anywhere the south of the Vindhyas, summer is like a permanent feature, except when it isn’t raining. With short teasers of the other seasons that could, but do not exist in this part of the world. But the concept of seasons is so exciting for us folks here that every time the temperature is a single digit number, we go – ‘Ooh winter, let’s get the razaisout. Oh so this is what those people in Delhi must be feeling. So much cold, I’m freezing, let me go buy a winter Coat from Zara.’ The last part is a true story by the way.

Back to writing folks, the detours seem to be unavoidable, so many distractions right? And add it to that I have not done this for a while; I seem to want to fit the entire 4 months I was missing in this one post. Yeah. So a lot has happened between then and now. The most important things, in chronological order would be

My 10 year K reunion at the campus – what a wonderful experience to meet folks after a whole decade, feel old, party, dance like no time has passed, party some more, feel older still, and gossip through the night with a voice that was reduced to a croak by the time it all ended. Oh, and also, feel old.

Then we fell ill – all of us in the family, quite severely, so much that I decided atleast one of us had to have swine flu, but fortunately none of us did. For me, the two days at K just before, pretty much ensured that I took a whole week to get back on my feet.

And then, we moved to Hyderabad -So yes, we are back, to the city which I hated, loved, hated, loved,  got bored of, and finally left with a lot of melodrama, only to realise that I missed it after all, so yes, we are back, and despite the inhuman summer we are being subjected to, it’s been nice. And as I always say, it helps to come at a bad time, because it can only get better from here. What has also changed is that I am back to doing something I had promised, sworn, that I would never, ever do. But fate has this way of messing your big resolutions.

Before I create any more hype, we spent a LOT of money to get a place in an area where all, and I mean it, ALL offices in Hyderabad are. And once we were settled, done it up, we decided to move to Pune. And once we were settled in Pune, we decided to move back. And here, I am in the ONE office, literally, the ONE office, that is not where every, other, office is. Moral of the story, I am back to travelling more than I think any human being should every day. Like before. Like when I used to only whine about it all the time. Like this time. And no, I do not like it. It is making me cry.

It also makes me think about how much you want and resist change at the same time. Change sounds exciting, but it is also painful. Old can get monotonous, boring. New is always fun, but it is also tough to accept. There’s this chaotic transition phase where you wonder why you didn’t leave things the way they were, and then you do something so enjoyable that you answer your own question. So that’s where we are; missing the old, enjoying the new, settling down and getting used to the change. Building a fresh routine; a routine that will hopefully have a tiny, little slot for updating this page more than once in 4 months.

Because I know how much ‘they’ like reading me, and this the least I can do for them. And me.

The amazing racist – Book Review

Last week, I received another book for a review, “The amazing racist” by Chimmi Tenduf-La. The cover had a quote that called the book “Outrageously funny and deeply moving”, and this made me pick it up in the first place, because I love my dose of humor; the more outrageous the better.


The story is about an English school teacher Eddie, who comes down to Srilanka on a teaching assignment, and falls in love with a gorgeous local beauty, Menaka. Menaka herself comes from a powerful, elite family, headed by her very strict, very respected, adamant, and most importantly, white-skin hating father, Thilak Rupasinghe. So when the couple decides to get married within 6 weeks of seeing each other, the father is far from amused, and tries every trick in the book to not let it happen.

This, is what I thought was the whole story. You know how our English boy manages to thwart the heart of his SriLankan prospective father-in-law, and manages to have a happy ending with the woman he loves. And this is where the humor lay too. But strangely, Menaka and Eddie get married before a third of the book is over.

And honestly, this is where the story begins. This book is the story of Eddie and Thilak, not Eddie and Menaka. This book is funny, yes, but this is not a book you will categories in the humor genre. This book is what is mentioned in the latter half of the quote – deeply moving. Very, deeply, moving. The rest of the book deals with Eddie, and his life with Thilak, and a new entrant in their lives, Eddie and Menaka’s daughter, Kiki. Menaka relegates into the background, offering an occasional twist. The evolution of the Eddie’s place as an outsider in Thilak Rupasinghe life, to that of his closest confidante, the only person he trusts, the only person who cares for him, more than his whole family, keeps you glued, wanting to go on, seeing how it all ends.

The Amazing Racist managed to do something not many books have done in the recent past – it made me cry, for quite some time after the book was finished. It deals with the most basic human emotions, prejudices, insecurity, loyalty, love, and beautifully so. For a debut novel, I am extremely impressed with the author’s talent at keeping the reader spellbound.

Some books you like for how well it is written, some books you like for the story. This book, you’ll love for both. Definite thumbs up, definite must read.

This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

Ramayana – The Game of life, Shattered Dreams – Book Review

After a long hiatus, I decided to pick up a book to review out here, and when I checked Blogadda, turned out they had Book 2 of yet another Ramayana series (Ramayana – The Game of Life, by Shubha Vilas) up for the grabs. I never read a sequel without having read the first part but I made an exception in this case, because 1. Ramayana, I mean if you were brought up in India, there’s no way you are not already well versed with this story 2. I did think I would read Book 1 but time and health did not allow me to. So I went ahead with this anyway.

Now, I have read Book 1 of Ashok Banker’s Ramayana series a long time ago, but it was so detailed, so long, that I did not dare to pick up book 2. I had the same worry with this one, especially when you know this is also going to be a 6 book series. But fortunately, it took me a day and a half to glide through this story telling. Never wavering from the plot you might have heard umpteen times in your childhood, the book retells the tale of truth, of honesty, of jealousy, of commitments, of respect. It starts with Dasaratha’s decision of Rama’s coronation as the king of Ayodhya, and ends with the beginning of Rama’s 14 year long exile.

So what is new in this version? Whenever a well known tale from the past is retold, I look forward to those little extra bits of information that surprise you, or the author’s own deductions of what would have actually happened (like Jaya, definitely my favorite rendition of Mahabharata). What was different in this case, were the foot notes, the little lessons one takes away from the epic, some insight into the actions each of the character takes in the story. What is good is these don’t form part of the narrative, ensuring that there is no break in the flow. Instead, they are mentioned as footnotes for reference, which the reader might choose to go through at his own convenience.

On the downside, some of these insights were way too philosophical, reminding me of self help books, something I am not personally very fond of. But that is a personal opinion. I chose to read this as mere information and insight into the characters in Ramayana, which was something I was looking forward to anyway. And in parts where I thought there was just too much gyan, I chose to skip it and move on with the story.

Overall, I think it is a very comfortable read, especially is someone were to ask for a Ramayana version recommendation, I would suggest this, based on this one part I read. Mainly because it sticks to the story we all know, and also because it is told so simply that you don’t have to go back to understand what it is trying to say. And also because it has just the right amount of detail one needs while reading an epic such as this.

So yes, do pick it up (start with the first though!) if you want to read Ramayana. And yes, I think I will be picking up the next part for myself.

This review is a part of the biggest Book Review Program for Indian Bloggers. Participate now to get free books!

One day at a time

Monday usually starts with a bitter taste in the mouth, but not today. One, because today, in a bright, strategic coincidence of sorts, all the biggies decided to utilize the business travel budget, and took off for the week. Two, for the first half of the day I assumed that our buddies in the opposite time zone had a day off, their version of Gandhi Jayanti. And three, because I have a terrible cold that has killed my damn taste buds, making it impossible to have any sort of taste in the mouth at all.

But owing to the bright, positive, optimistic note that I started my day on, I glided through the day, in a state of virtual bliss, albeit with a blocked nose and a sinus-y headache. Unfortunately, as the day passed, the blissful state started toning down because I realized not all companies celebrate the said by taking the day off so there was this slight danger of a last moment call being scheduled. Additionally, the situation of my nose decided to never get better and left me sort of breathless, in the not-nice way. But I determinedly continue on the path of never-ending optimism, mostly because the lady at the reception gave me a Citrizen and a Sinarest and asked me to take both which I think has left me a bit groggy.

Colds suck, especially when your condition oscillates between possessing a runny nose that will not give up, or one so dry that every breath hurts. I mean, dude, make up your mind!  Last night was such. I woke up atleast 2 times, dreaming of drowning in the sea (or a swimming pool), gasping for breath, flailing my limbs, only to realise that my nose was blocked. And another two times, with a nose so runny, I don’t want to provide an analogy that will be too much information for my remaining readers to bear.

A blocked nose also means you breathe through your mouth, which basically leads to add-on benefits of a sore throat, chapped lips, and general extra-sucky feeling because all the other pains were not enough. Add to this, every time I would sit up to sniff, hoping for some relief, I’d quickly realise that my bed is currently shared by the one who doesn’t believe in sleeping and any out of the way sound might wake her up for good. So I would go back to lying with my mouth wide open, looking forward to enjoying my nightmares of the Arabian Sea.

But I did get back to sleep, and I did wake up, exhausted, but atleast I woke up. Plus this whole flu drama has caught up with the entire household, which meant some additional prep-work, some extra attention to Zo, including hanging around till Zo had her breakfast, got ready, and got into her school van. But then I did make it to work.

And survived the day. Not in the most comfortable of states, but not the worst either because as I mentioned, optimistic start (and an overdose of cold meds). Also, somewhere along all the sniffling and whining, one of my friends mentioned that I had now transitioned from being ‘slim’ to being ‘thin’ I’m sure not as a compliment, but it made me want to hug her and thank her for making my day. And then there were very tasty grapes that I had packed for snacks, which have Vitamin C in abundance, just the thing you need to counter a cold as annoying as this. All of this made for an overall awesome Monday I think.

Awesome Monday. I don’t think there is a bigger oxymoron than that. Or a more welcome one. Next stop – Tuesday.