My life has gone through so much change in the last 2 months. For one thing, it changed it's hemisphere. As if that isn't big enough by itself!
I thought I would record every moment of my life and write about it. Funny narratives, happy narratives, exciting narratives etc etc. But life is just whizzing by and I don't know where to start or how much to write or how to best express experiences that would never be contained in words, least of all a blog entry. Then I thought I'd just put up some photos with elaborate captions but even that would make it pointless to anyone who is wasting their time reading this blog and trying to get a drift of my life over these two months.
So I decided...to hell with the stories and the choronological crap. I'll say what I want to say.
1. Woe betide a person whose name starts with an "a" in Australia. It will invariably get spelt with an "e". You can labour over your British "Aaaiiii" for hours but to the Aussies it sounds nothing better than an "Eeeeiiii". Sigh! I am almost relearning my vowels here.
2. If you have lived in a country where the roads and street names are Vittal Mallya road or Sheshadipuram or Eijipura orBypanahalli it feels very strange to suddenly pronounce words such as Tuggeranong or Amaroo or Belconnen! You miss the hard sounds.
3. Kangaroos, kangaroos and more kangaroos. They are delightful animals. I used to think they were more lighter brownish in colour, but someone really smart around me told me that these guys are lighter too but they haven't had a bath in a while and their coats have become dirty. Oh! well, even that's a cute explanation.
4. Grocery shopping feels like going on a picnic. There are endless things to see, endless plus one things to buy. I think it would take anyone on an average over a year to just get over the bonanza of colors in a grocery store.
5. India prides itself on Amul, Krishna's butter stealing stories, rich milk and curds and yet why is that we haven't gotten past the simple badam milk or rose lassi or the good old chaas?! Passion fruit and pecan yogurt??? Did these guys get innovative or what? I believe these guys would make yogurt out of anything even if there is no milk to start with.
6. Sydney I found was nice, commercial and crowded spaning pricey Victoria malls to cheap China town. I didn't spend too much time there but I think I prefer Canberra. It's more beauiful, nascent, laid back, everyone's scaringly nice and the silence just spreads like a soothing balm. I love all the little lakes it has.
7. The sun sleeps late here. 8'o clock feels like 5 in the evening in India. I don't know if I should be cooking dinner or munching on some tea time snacks then. And sunset is quite theaterical everyday with all the show of colors glittering everywhere. I am sure lots can be written about the morning skies too but I am seldom awake to know much about it. The southern skies are simply poetic though.
8. I have been eating so many different kinds of food ever since I got here. Turkish, Italian, Thai, Chinese or just good old fattening food..yum yum yum. Most vegetarian food outside India seems like diet food. Lettuce leaves and Zuccini and carrots and if they cook it, they would only take it as far as steaming. :-) The pita wraps, the Turkish pide's, the elegant pastas, everything feels healthy to eat. I love it here. Oh! I almost forgot. Right down my building in an asian store they sell sugarcane juice that tastes just as good as those road side juices in India. I am keenly on the lookout of a pani puri stall and what do you know, I might find that too here someday.
9. It's a different life, a different world, different people but the same smiles, the same emotions, the same kindness, the almost same dominoes pizza (trust me on that) and therefore a whole new exciting phase.
10. Maybe it's too personal to say so but I think my husband is the best. See, beyond this I am scared to communicate what I feel lest it turns out like some soppy hallmark card. I hope the superlative suffices.
More later....
Friday, November 23, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Friday, June 08, 2007
Running nose and Brave battles
Being bogged down by a cold is inconvenient at any point but now when the weather is so brilliant and one wishes to spend time outside, harboring some low-life viruses doesn't particularly excite me.Especially when they come uninvited!Not that one would ever invite them in the right senses, even so their lack of appropriate timing is very annoying.
You get up one morning and realise you have to play host to god knows how many famlies of these vile viruses.They sneak in past barriers and lodge themselves comfortably in your lungs and before you know it a wild raucous party has begun!!I woke up this morning feeling horrible and weak.A running nose that would embarrass you if you tilted your head even at a mere 15 degree angle.Sweaty, restless and an irritable feeling.I have been in bed sulking while the mountain of tissues threatens to bury me under.I feel hungry yet I can't stand the thought of food, I sweat but I freeze when I switch the fan on.My running nose has herein qualified me as the human niagra and yet I feel sun dried and stretched and uncomfortable.
What I need right now is some hot peppery potent kashayam that amma makes that would burn my tongue, sooth my throat, give my nose a rest and issue copius amount of smoke from my ears.I also wouldn't mind some occasional pampering and some extra care :)
I admire by body's defences though.I haven't taken a pill so far and my body has been on the job since morning fighting a territorial battle.It has it's message clear.
Territory:Lungs
Occupants:Either Oxygen or Carbon dioxide
Tresspassers:Anything besides the O2 and CO2.
Action:Complete distruction and a word or two of warning before that (I assume so, as I always consider all of me as very civil)
I hate going through a cold.Fevers are much better.They make you drowsy and you can atleast sleep them off.But colds make you restless and fidgety, dry and irritable and the whole day seems wasted sulking and sweating.And there is nothing one can do about it.It takes 7 days to win the battle and 7 days it will be with or without medicines.So for all practical purposes I have my week chartered out for me.
You get up one morning and realise you have to play host to god knows how many famlies of these vile viruses.They sneak in past barriers and lodge themselves comfortably in your lungs and before you know it a wild raucous party has begun!!I woke up this morning feeling horrible and weak.A running nose that would embarrass you if you tilted your head even at a mere 15 degree angle.Sweaty, restless and an irritable feeling.I have been in bed sulking while the mountain of tissues threatens to bury me under.I feel hungry yet I can't stand the thought of food, I sweat but I freeze when I switch the fan on.My running nose has herein qualified me as the human niagra and yet I feel sun dried and stretched and uncomfortable.
What I need right now is some hot peppery potent kashayam that amma makes that would burn my tongue, sooth my throat, give my nose a rest and issue copius amount of smoke from my ears.I also wouldn't mind some occasional pampering and some extra care :)
I admire by body's defences though.I haven't taken a pill so far and my body has been on the job since morning fighting a territorial battle.It has it's message clear.
Territory:Lungs
Occupants:Either Oxygen or Carbon dioxide
Tresspassers:Anything besides the O2 and CO2.
Action:Complete distruction and a word or two of warning before that (I assume so, as I always consider all of me as very civil)
I hate going through a cold.Fevers are much better.They make you drowsy and you can atleast sleep them off.But colds make you restless and fidgety, dry and irritable and the whole day seems wasted sulking and sweating.And there is nothing one can do about it.It takes 7 days to win the battle and 7 days it will be with or without medicines.So for all practical purposes I have my week chartered out for me.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
I rode my dear old bike to office today.In fact every morning for the past couple of weeks my bike has been parked in my garage and every morning it gives me great joy to find it there.Why should this seemingly regular situation give me so much happiness? Because when it comes to my bike..nothing is obvious and regular.
It's been almost 9 years since I bought my bike and in all those years,the number of days it has actually spent parked in my garage can be counted to about one third of an annual calendar.You see, traffic rules change and amazingly they change only on the days I take my bike out.They change erratically and almost vengefully tagerting my bike.When I bought my bike, little did I know I would have so much adventure with it.In fact I am now thinking of attaching a GPS to some curvy corner of my bike.That would definitely make my life easier.Let me tell you how it all started.
One fine day I went to watch a movie with a friend of mine.We decided that I park my bike at some mid point and then ride hers.So I parked it where all the other bikes were parked in a neat row and left. When I returned from the movie, there was no row, no neat parking and certainly no bikes.But what was there was a newly painted, proud, glowing no parking sign.Apparently at twelve that afternoon rules changed and a huge convenient parking slot had been murdered.And with that went my bike.As this was my first experience being seperated from my bike, I didn't know where to go looking for it.I walked into the nearest police station and that's an experience that deserves another blog entry.I walked up to a sub inspector who was busy filing papers.Without looking up he told me that I had walked into the wrong station,that this place was for criminals, murderers and other such interesting characters.As if by cue, a constable walked in with a man handcuffed who was holding a knife and throwing thrifty glances at me...caught apparently..err..red handed.I was out of there in a flash, almost a blur.
So I spent the day running from one station to another, being mislead by the usual bangalorean "straight hoogi madam" directions, figuring out which one had my poor bike.Finally, I spotted the right station paid the fine and rode her back home.That day set the pattern in my life.The next time my bike disappeared from outside my library.I had barely even stepped into the library when I turned around to find the road sans my bike.This other time I had parked it in front of my friend's house like I had been doing for almost 5 years but then...we know the ending...it was gone.Apparently those few feet of tarmac had been made into a main road, I assume because only my bike among a sea of bikes was removed.It doesn't matter where I park my bike, they prey on it take it away with a focussed sadistic plan.
It pains me to see my poor bike clapped in chains, looking very forlorn and hunted everytime I go to rescue her.In fact I feel she has lost her pretty blue sheen due to this repeated abduction.These days she looks quite bereaved, faded and ill at ease on the roads...a little jittery if I may say so.And so considering all that she has gone through, it gives me great joy to find her parked in my garage for the past couple of weeks.I see a definite improvement in her and what with the servicing that I gave her recently, I think she will soon rally around and be as good as new.
It's been almost 9 years since I bought my bike and in all those years,the number of days it has actually spent parked in my garage can be counted to about one third of an annual calendar.You see, traffic rules change and amazingly they change only on the days I take my bike out.They change erratically and almost vengefully tagerting my bike.When I bought my bike, little did I know I would have so much adventure with it.In fact I am now thinking of attaching a GPS to some curvy corner of my bike.That would definitely make my life easier.Let me tell you how it all started.
One fine day I went to watch a movie with a friend of mine.We decided that I park my bike at some mid point and then ride hers.So I parked it where all the other bikes were parked in a neat row and left. When I returned from the movie, there was no row, no neat parking and certainly no bikes.But what was there was a newly painted, proud, glowing no parking sign.Apparently at twelve that afternoon rules changed and a huge convenient parking slot had been murdered.And with that went my bike.As this was my first experience being seperated from my bike, I didn't know where to go looking for it.I walked into the nearest police station and that's an experience that deserves another blog entry.I walked up to a sub inspector who was busy filing papers.Without looking up he told me that I had walked into the wrong station,that this place was for criminals, murderers and other such interesting characters.As if by cue, a constable walked in with a man handcuffed who was holding a knife and throwing thrifty glances at me...caught apparently..err..red handed.I was out of there in a flash, almost a blur.
So I spent the day running from one station to another, being mislead by the usual bangalorean "straight hoogi madam" directions, figuring out which one had my poor bike.Finally, I spotted the right station paid the fine and rode her back home.That day set the pattern in my life.The next time my bike disappeared from outside my library.I had barely even stepped into the library when I turned around to find the road sans my bike.This other time I had parked it in front of my friend's house like I had been doing for almost 5 years but then...we know the ending...it was gone.Apparently those few feet of tarmac had been made into a main road, I assume because only my bike among a sea of bikes was removed.It doesn't matter where I park my bike, they prey on it take it away with a focussed sadistic plan.
It pains me to see my poor bike clapped in chains, looking very forlorn and hunted everytime I go to rescue her.In fact I feel she has lost her pretty blue sheen due to this repeated abduction.These days she looks quite bereaved, faded and ill at ease on the roads...a little jittery if I may say so.And so considering all that she has gone through, it gives me great joy to find her parked in my garage for the past couple of weeks.I see a definite improvement in her and what with the servicing that I gave her recently, I think she will soon rally around and be as good as new.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
My tattoo.
The hiatus ends…(Claps and cheers)…Thank you thank you. (Clapping and cheering continues) “If all of you could please settle down, I would like to say a few words”.
Writing is difficult when the mind is cluttered and occupied with irrelevant thoughts. Simply, I needed time to purge them. And now, with that done and fresh perspectives gained, I start again.
Sometime back I got a permanent tattoo done. Yes, it was painful, Yes, it was very brave of me and No, I am not a junkie. The whole experience was wonderful and in fact worth recounting.
I saw a friend at the gym sporting a beautiful sea horse near her ankle and the desire to get one done for myself gripped me then. Although I was interested, for a few weeks I bobbed around the house wondering if I should actually do it. I asked many people. All their responses (and what a torrent it was!) frankly amused me. It ranged from blatant shock and disapproval to avid appreciation, from disinterest to mild fascination, from wonder to disgust and so on. Some of them even said that if I was depressed I should just safely stick to eating chocolates or if I wanted a change then why don’t I try painting my toes fluorescent green (at least they would be hidden in my shoes).
And so having made up my mind, battling through advices that a tattoo it would be, I had to think of a suitable design. The old clichés such as dolphins and dragons hold no appeal for me; neither do scary sculls and tantric symbols. What design would be worth marring my skin? What design would hold great meaning permanently? What is so close to my heart that I would etch it on myself? A dog I hear you scream. And you are right! I love dogs, I don’t think I could love anything more than dogs. So, it made phenomenal sense to me to get a tattoo of a dog done. If the responses for the idea of getting a tattoo done were huge, then the opinions for the design chosen were overwhelming.
“Oh! my god, why a dog?” “Can’t you come up with something more feminine, like butterflies and pretty angels perhaps?” “Hey, it’s a great idea but are you getting a cartoon of a dog done?” “No comments!” “It will look awesome” and blah blah blah…
My tattooist (Deep) was a young guy who eyed the portrait of the dog I showed him very guardedly. He twitched a bit, twiddled a little more, chewed his lips, walked a few paces away from the picture and viewed it as if it were a master piece at an arts gallery and finally beamed saying he could do an exact replica of the picture. The next day having gathered all my courage, I entered the parlor for a bit of engraving! Everything looked scary from that point on. The needle packet had a warning that said, “This needle WAS sterile in ethylene oxide”. The past tense was definitely unnerving. The manufacturer meant to convey that it was sterilized in ethylene oxide and messed up his verbs with his nouns.
Deep brought out needles and a huge tattoo machine. A tattoo needle is actually a group of several small needles called sharps attached to a needle bar. They are called group, single, liner, round, flat, magnum, shader etc. Needles can be made in groups of 3, 5, 7 or more, depending on what the artist is comfortable with and what the design calls for. The sharps are soldered to a needle bar, and the bar is placed in the tattoo machine through a tube. The machine looks like a drill, reminds you of your dental problems and makes hell of a noise. As he loaded the needle with ink, Deep tried reassuring me by comparing the sensation to a mild bee sting or a pinprick or an ant bite. The truth is there is no such thing as a mild bee sting. When you are stung or bitten…IT HURTS!
And so it began, a 4-hour session of pain and curses, loud drilling noise and numbness. At first Deep moved the needle slowly making small dots to test my pain threshold but soon it became obvious that a dot or a large line would bring forth the same pitch of blood curdling screams and so he began drawing with a uniform speed. I clenched on to a stress ball all that time and almost tore it into two, while Deep carved on diligently and expertly. Every now and then he would look up, dip the needle in more ink, review his progress, give me an encouraging smile and work on. Every now and then, I tried to pull my leg away, scream a bit more, clench my fingers harder and pray hard it would get over the very next instance.
In the end, it was all worth it. Every moment of that apprehension and pain. As I looked at my tattoo when it was finally done, I felt so ecstatic for having decided to get a tattoo. The shading and the fine lines, the depth of emotions in the eyes of the dog, the soft sweep of the fur, the beautiful gray tones…all of it was artful and perfect. I keep gazing at it again and again while post tattoo care was given. To know I will carry this piece of art on me all my life is a wonderful feeling. Tattoos are addictive for a various reasons. People keep getting them done either because they want newer designs or they love to cover their whole body with it or believe it or not they might even get it done to experience the pain over and over again.
Take a look at it yourself.
Writing is difficult when the mind is cluttered and occupied with irrelevant thoughts. Simply, I needed time to purge them. And now, with that done and fresh perspectives gained, I start again.
Sometime back I got a permanent tattoo done. Yes, it was painful, Yes, it was very brave of me and No, I am not a junkie. The whole experience was wonderful and in fact worth recounting.
I saw a friend at the gym sporting a beautiful sea horse near her ankle and the desire to get one done for myself gripped me then. Although I was interested, for a few weeks I bobbed around the house wondering if I should actually do it. I asked many people. All their responses (and what a torrent it was!) frankly amused me. It ranged from blatant shock and disapproval to avid appreciation, from disinterest to mild fascination, from wonder to disgust and so on. Some of them even said that if I was depressed I should just safely stick to eating chocolates or if I wanted a change then why don’t I try painting my toes fluorescent green (at least they would be hidden in my shoes).
And so having made up my mind, battling through advices that a tattoo it would be, I had to think of a suitable design. The old clichés such as dolphins and dragons hold no appeal for me; neither do scary sculls and tantric symbols. What design would be worth marring my skin? What design would hold great meaning permanently? What is so close to my heart that I would etch it on myself? A dog I hear you scream. And you are right! I love dogs, I don’t think I could love anything more than dogs. So, it made phenomenal sense to me to get a tattoo of a dog done. If the responses for the idea of getting a tattoo done were huge, then the opinions for the design chosen were overwhelming.
“Oh! my god, why a dog?” “Can’t you come up with something more feminine, like butterflies and pretty angels perhaps?” “Hey, it’s a great idea but are you getting a cartoon of a dog done?” “No comments!” “It will look awesome” and blah blah blah…
My tattooist (Deep) was a young guy who eyed the portrait of the dog I showed him very guardedly. He twitched a bit, twiddled a little more, chewed his lips, walked a few paces away from the picture and viewed it as if it were a master piece at an arts gallery and finally beamed saying he could do an exact replica of the picture. The next day having gathered all my courage, I entered the parlor for a bit of engraving! Everything looked scary from that point on. The needle packet had a warning that said, “This needle WAS sterile in ethylene oxide”. The past tense was definitely unnerving. The manufacturer meant to convey that it was sterilized in ethylene oxide and messed up his verbs with his nouns.
Deep brought out needles and a huge tattoo machine. A tattoo needle is actually a group of several small needles called sharps attached to a needle bar. They are called group, single, liner, round, flat, magnum, shader etc. Needles can be made in groups of 3, 5, 7 or more, depending on what the artist is comfortable with and what the design calls for. The sharps are soldered to a needle bar, and the bar is placed in the tattoo machine through a tube. The machine looks like a drill, reminds you of your dental problems and makes hell of a noise. As he loaded the needle with ink, Deep tried reassuring me by comparing the sensation to a mild bee sting or a pinprick or an ant bite. The truth is there is no such thing as a mild bee sting. When you are stung or bitten…IT HURTS!
And so it began, a 4-hour session of pain and curses, loud drilling noise and numbness. At first Deep moved the needle slowly making small dots to test my pain threshold but soon it became obvious that a dot or a large line would bring forth the same pitch of blood curdling screams and so he began drawing with a uniform speed. I clenched on to a stress ball all that time and almost tore it into two, while Deep carved on diligently and expertly. Every now and then he would look up, dip the needle in more ink, review his progress, give me an encouraging smile and work on. Every now and then, I tried to pull my leg away, scream a bit more, clench my fingers harder and pray hard it would get over the very next instance.
In the end, it was all worth it. Every moment of that apprehension and pain. As I looked at my tattoo when it was finally done, I felt so ecstatic for having decided to get a tattoo. The shading and the fine lines, the depth of emotions in the eyes of the dog, the soft sweep of the fur, the beautiful gray tones…all of it was artful and perfect. I keep gazing at it again and again while post tattoo care was given. To know I will carry this piece of art on me all my life is a wonderful feeling. Tattoos are addictive for a various reasons. People keep getting them done either because they want newer designs or they love to cover their whole body with it or believe it or not they might even get it done to experience the pain over and over again.
Take a look at it yourself.
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