I saw her from the window sill,
Up and down and never still.
Short brown hair and big brown eyes,
Pearls and suede, mmm..very nice.
Now a vision to my eyes,
Now not, it happened twice.
Restless and a little anxious she seemed,
Eagerly awaiting someone I deemed.
Behind her stood a yellow shade,
Maybe in Taiwan, in China made.
And it glowed in perfection bright,
Oh! The picture under, what a sight!
Three little children in colors of fall,
Two naughty boys and a girl with a doll.
Crinkled eyes and gaps in teeth,
Mischief and innocence weaved in a wreath.
The sun shone down on their little backs,
She seemed to see the picture and relax.
She stood by her window for a moment too long,
Were those tears I saw?! She seemed to be strong.
She arranged and then rearranged the flowers,
The table, tablecloth and the lil clock tower.
At the sound of a passing car she would brighten,
When it went past her window her, her features, tightened.
Maybe she was impatient, maybe sad,
Whatever it was, I felt bad.
So I stayed in the shadows and watched her wait,
Whoever she was waiting for, was obviously late.
The sunlight in my room softened and faded,
The window woman was clearly jaded.
Drawn to my very own chores was I,
So I drew the blinds with a heavy sigh.
Late at night when the stars were out,
And the moon looked plump and stout.
I went to my window sill again,
The window woman had my affection, that was plain.
Under the very same shade she sat,
Bestowed a peck now and then and a pat.
Stranger to my eyes though she was,
Her joy to me had passed.
The three little rascals around her were,
To her stories like kittens they purred.
It brought a tear to my eye, this.
Granny and her grandchildren, oh bliss!
So they were the reason the window she had adorned,
And now with their love and giggles she was crowned.
8.10.09
5.9.09
4.8.09
The Reminder of Memories
I have one very crooked tooth. I always knew this, but today, it dawned on me. As I felt its crookedness, I realized that it felt a lot more crooked than I have known and a lot more than it looks like. And this reminded me of Sister Judith. Because she is the Causer of My Crooked Tooth.
When I was really little, I used to carry my little ABC, 123 and coloring books in my little colorful bag. This, I used to carry, drag or both to the sisters' convent in the primary school of Cluny. Once I reached the convent, I used to tip toe, yes, even at the age of 4, I was tip toeing and trying to escape her penetrating eyes and finding the piano farthest away from her room and closest to the exit.
Sister Judith. I think she is a Keralite, but I had no idea then. Because she was so fair and spoke differently (daunt move yar haand laik thaat, child) I assumed that she was a foreigner. She was and is the strictest (and one of the best) teachers I have ever seen! Now, I'd have gone and searched and searched and finally have found the perfect grand piano that would save my rear side for the day, but she'd hunt me down. Oh boy! I used to shiver at her very voice! She would then, proceed to shoo me to the main room, which was her teaching room and office. Come to think of it, I think the room was an oxymoron of my state of mind and guts those evenings when Sister J took special interest in my piano skills.
The room had a ceiling so high, that my 4 year old eyes would roll behind the sockets trying to take in its enormity. It was painted white. Pristine, pure, peaceful white, with a just, ever so slight, imperceptible, diluted beyond recognition blue. And it emanated freshness. You'd just want to kick your slippers, slip into a sarong, play Norah Jones and sip lemonade! That fresh. Directly behind the piano was Sis J's work table with pens, paper clips, papers and sundries lying in lazy abandon (to my eyes). To the piano's right was a black bookshelf. It gleamed, it sparkled and when the evening sun shone through the enormous windows behind the work table, it would soak in all the warmth. I feel like hugging that bookshelf now. To the left, and just next to it, were two doors, each leading to other piano rooms, usually used by the senior players (my seniors, the 5 year olds, the 6 year olds and the 7 year olds!).
Sometimes, when she was busy, or traveling, Sis J would assign the senior children (sometimes the real ones!) to assist us in our practice. But most of the times, she was there, stick in hand, her white habit as white as the room and a cross hanging around her neck on a deep blue chain. Those days, I'd almost pass out at the sight of her, but now, when I think of it, I realize that her eyes were always twinkling! They were mischievous, naughty and screamed I-know-what-you're-upto-you-little-imp-but-worry-not-I-know-you're-scared-stiff-of-me!!
If I was scared of Sis J, I was petrified of her sticks. They were as big as a drummer’s stick, maybe that’s exactly what they were. She had two of those, one was a deep brown, bordering on maroon shade and the other was a lighter brown. Both were my arch nemeses. Now, I was quite dramatic as a child. Ok, more dramatic than what I am right now! So, every time I’d open the piano, I felt like one of those old, 70s heroines with elaborate buns, more elaborate eyebrows and very pretty fingers. And I’d play the piano like them. Up and down, up and down my wrists would go, as I played “Old Mc Donald had a farm” to my imaginary 70s hero! Oh the pain of a broken fantasy. Wham, would come the stick! And I wonder how she knew exactly what I was thinking when Sis J told me to stop acting like those heroines and play the piano the way it’s to be played. Oh boy, after that, every time, she took classes for me, the stick hovered right above my knuckles and sometimes when I used to space off right in the middle of the lesson, they’d come crashing down.
But, she had a special interest in teeth I think, because, both my brother and I have experienced her Deliverer of Milk Teeth role. She had told my brother that if he let her pull his tooth out and planted it in her rose pot, the rose would turn out more beautiful than ever. So that’s what the dude did, and later plucked the rose as rightfully his and had to flee the premises in panic. The Obsessor of Roses wanted his blood!
And it was Sis J who had pulled out my tooth and warned me against fiddling with the gap (which I ignored, of course) and now I am the Bearer of the Crooked Tooth.
I miss Sis J. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing now. The year after my classes, we had to move town. I knew her for just a year, but the impact she’s had on me...!! After me, I’m sure there were hundreds and hundreds of lucky, blessed, fortunate Cluny girls whom she took under her tutorage and made them play the piano like REAL musicians.
I hope wherever she is, she is holding on to the sticks and scaring the living life out of some other 4 year old!!
When I was really little, I used to carry my little ABC, 123 and coloring books in my little colorful bag. This, I used to carry, drag or both to the sisters' convent in the primary school of Cluny. Once I reached the convent, I used to tip toe, yes, even at the age of 4, I was tip toeing and trying to escape her penetrating eyes and finding the piano farthest away from her room and closest to the exit.
Sister Judith. I think she is a Keralite, but I had no idea then. Because she was so fair and spoke differently (daunt move yar haand laik thaat, child) I assumed that she was a foreigner. She was and is the strictest (and one of the best) teachers I have ever seen! Now, I'd have gone and searched and searched and finally have found the perfect grand piano that would save my rear side for the day, but she'd hunt me down. Oh boy! I used to shiver at her very voice! She would then, proceed to shoo me to the main room, which was her teaching room and office. Come to think of it, I think the room was an oxymoron of my state of mind and guts those evenings when Sister J took special interest in my piano skills.
The room had a ceiling so high, that my 4 year old eyes would roll behind the sockets trying to take in its enormity. It was painted white. Pristine, pure, peaceful white, with a just, ever so slight, imperceptible, diluted beyond recognition blue. And it emanated freshness. You'd just want to kick your slippers, slip into a sarong, play Norah Jones and sip lemonade! That fresh. Directly behind the piano was Sis J's work table with pens, paper clips, papers and sundries lying in lazy abandon (to my eyes). To the piano's right was a black bookshelf. It gleamed, it sparkled and when the evening sun shone through the enormous windows behind the work table, it would soak in all the warmth. I feel like hugging that bookshelf now. To the left, and just next to it, were two doors, each leading to other piano rooms, usually used by the senior players (my seniors, the 5 year olds, the 6 year olds and the 7 year olds!).
Sometimes, when she was busy, or traveling, Sis J would assign the senior children (sometimes the real ones!) to assist us in our practice. But most of the times, she was there, stick in hand, her white habit as white as the room and a cross hanging around her neck on a deep blue chain. Those days, I'd almost pass out at the sight of her, but now, when I think of it, I realize that her eyes were always twinkling! They were mischievous, naughty and screamed I-know-what-you're-upto-you-little-imp-but-worry-not-I-know-you're-scared-stiff-of-me!!
If I was scared of Sis J, I was petrified of her sticks. They were as big as a drummer’s stick, maybe that’s exactly what they were. She had two of those, one was a deep brown, bordering on maroon shade and the other was a lighter brown. Both were my arch nemeses. Now, I was quite dramatic as a child. Ok, more dramatic than what I am right now! So, every time I’d open the piano, I felt like one of those old, 70s heroines with elaborate buns, more elaborate eyebrows and very pretty fingers. And I’d play the piano like them. Up and down, up and down my wrists would go, as I played “Old Mc Donald had a farm” to my imaginary 70s hero! Oh the pain of a broken fantasy. Wham, would come the stick! And I wonder how she knew exactly what I was thinking when Sis J told me to stop acting like those heroines and play the piano the way it’s to be played. Oh boy, after that, every time, she took classes for me, the stick hovered right above my knuckles and sometimes when I used to space off right in the middle of the lesson, they’d come crashing down.
But, she had a special interest in teeth I think, because, both my brother and I have experienced her Deliverer of Milk Teeth role. She had told my brother that if he let her pull his tooth out and planted it in her rose pot, the rose would turn out more beautiful than ever. So that’s what the dude did, and later plucked the rose as rightfully his and had to flee the premises in panic. The Obsessor of Roses wanted his blood!
And it was Sis J who had pulled out my tooth and warned me against fiddling with the gap (which I ignored, of course) and now I am the Bearer of the Crooked Tooth.
I miss Sis J. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing now. The year after my classes, we had to move town. I knew her for just a year, but the impact she’s had on me...!! After me, I’m sure there were hundreds and hundreds of lucky, blessed, fortunate Cluny girls whom she took under her tutorage and made them play the piano like REAL musicians.
I hope wherever she is, she is holding on to the sticks and scaring the living life out of some other 4 year old!!
If.......
.........the maroon Tata Safari's honk, that lasted a ear drum numbing, brains exploding, eyes popping, earth reveberating, hair frizzing seven seconds could speak, I'd have been offended. Very. Offended.
3.8.09
Making Oxy, a moron.
Add cloves to my food and keep me in the dark. Regarding the cloves. Not me, like me.
31.7.09
The flexibility of lips (and tongues and larynxes and others)
If we were to find the perfect mate for Britain’s very famous stiff upper lip, you’d have to head towards the Bay of Bengal and come directly to South India. Stiff upper lip, meet Oh- so-flexible- that- loses- shape- and- collapses lip + tongue + larynx! Sparks fly, chemistry happens!
The place where I worked, in Edinburgh, was called mini India and for good reason. The evenings were filled with the sounds of ‘kaadha’ – telegu, ‘arrreeeyyy – hindi’ and (ewwww) ‘ok VA?’ – Tamil (will get back to this later). Most of the students found the work timings perfect and ‘most of the students’ being Indians, it was a great unity in diversity thing out there! (In fact once there was this huge row, because there was an India-Pakistan match going on, on one channel (yeah, we could watch TV at work!) and a Man U –some other team match on another one....ooh, the tension was palpable!)
Scottish names are pretty easy to pronounce, at least for us who roll the tongue in every possible dimension and the impossible dimensions too (try saying vaazhai pazham!). Our mother tongues are pretty complex as they are, combined with the necessity to be bi-lingual in our country, I think we can pronounce just about anything in this world (in our own accents of course.... ‘gelf’ anyone?!) But most of the natives I met, knew just one language. Petttre*. So, owing to some not so flexible upper lips, there were ‘Lacks mes’, ‘Shredderzhs’, ‘Vick has’s’ and many many more!
Coming back to the point, so, one day, my friend at work (yeah, she’s south Indian) hurriedly calls me and says, “Yuvan’s** looking for you”. I get all excited thinking that I’m finally going to get my break in the Tamil Film industry. Not sure if she perceived that or whether I had a puzzled look on my face, she said “Yuvan, Yuvan, that guy, who sits there” I was a little shocked (and disappointed =D) but the Yuvan guy had gone for a break, so I just went about doing my own work (and sulking a little!) when another Southie friend casually passes by and says, “Ivan wants to see you”. Before I could smartly answer that I was already seeing someone, this friend of mine jerked his head in the direction of ‘Ivan’. Which happened to be the exact direction of ‘Yuvan’. And in Yuvan/Ivan’s seat, sat my colleague ‘Ewan Scott’!! (Ok, I’ll confess that I had to ask the guy how in the world I pronounce his first name, before I got it right!!) It’s Ew as in you and an as in un – Ewan! Yuvan. Ivan. Now make your tongue touch the tip of your nose.
Now, to imagine Ewan singing “merke merke”***!!
*Tamil slang for English
**Yuvan Shankar Raja is a well known Tamil music director
*** merke merke is a famous tamil song composed by Yuvan Shankar Raja
The place where I worked, in Edinburgh, was called mini India and for good reason. The evenings were filled with the sounds of ‘kaadha’ – telegu, ‘arrreeeyyy – hindi’ and (ewwww) ‘ok VA?’ – Tamil (will get back to this later). Most of the students found the work timings perfect and ‘most of the students’ being Indians, it was a great unity in diversity thing out there! (In fact once there was this huge row, because there was an India-Pakistan match going on, on one channel (yeah, we could watch TV at work!) and a Man U –some other team match on another one....ooh, the tension was palpable!)
Scottish names are pretty easy to pronounce, at least for us who roll the tongue in every possible dimension and the impossible dimensions too (try saying vaazhai pazham!). Our mother tongues are pretty complex as they are, combined with the necessity to be bi-lingual in our country, I think we can pronounce just about anything in this world (in our own accents of course.... ‘gelf’ anyone?!) But most of the natives I met, knew just one language. Petttre*. So, owing to some not so flexible upper lips, there were ‘Lacks mes’, ‘Shredderzhs’, ‘Vick has’s’ and many many more!
Coming back to the point, so, one day, my friend at work (yeah, she’s south Indian) hurriedly calls me and says, “Yuvan’s** looking for you”. I get all excited thinking that I’m finally going to get my break in the Tamil Film industry. Not sure if she perceived that or whether I had a puzzled look on my face, she said “Yuvan, Yuvan, that guy, who sits there” I was a little shocked (and disappointed =D) but the Yuvan guy had gone for a break, so I just went about doing my own work (and sulking a little!) when another Southie friend casually passes by and says, “Ivan wants to see you”. Before I could smartly answer that I was already seeing someone, this friend of mine jerked his head in the direction of ‘Ivan’. Which happened to be the exact direction of ‘Yuvan’. And in Yuvan/Ivan’s seat, sat my colleague ‘Ewan Scott’!! (Ok, I’ll confess that I had to ask the guy how in the world I pronounce his first name, before I got it right!!) It’s Ew as in you and an as in un – Ewan! Yuvan. Ivan. Now make your tongue touch the tip of your nose.
Now, to imagine Ewan singing “merke merke”***!!
*Tamil slang for English
**Yuvan Shankar Raja is a well known Tamil music director
*** merke merke is a famous tamil song composed by Yuvan Shankar Raja
30.7.09
Cartoons
About seventeen years ago (oh boy...!!), in the month of November, we all were pretty silly and stupid. Especially Tublu*. Seriously.
It was my birthday and I was soooooo excited! Mom was preparing 'kesari' (fav fav!) and there was a nice cake waiting for me to slaughter! So there we were, me, all decked up and pseudo grinning (not letting my upper lip touch my lower lip- I was wearing LIPSTICK!!), two blobs of bright pink on either cheekbone, same bright pink on eyelids ...you get the drift... my brother, Tublu and this kocha kocha group of giggling, yelling, playing ball in the house kids! I was turning nine, oooooh nine!!
Due to some culinary issues, the party was getting delayed, and though I was supposed to wait until after the birthday bash to open my gifts, I couldn’t bear the suspense! So, when my folks weren’t looking, me, surrounded by the rest of the restless kids (especially Tublu) opened the first one! It was from my parents and was a book (sigh...I know!) that said "CARTOONS" in big letters. The cover had a picture of a person, manipulating a stick figure to change the position of its hands. I understand what that meant now, but then....anyways, Tublu saw the 'CARTOONS' and began giggling, I really didn’t see the joke, and could empathize with the emperor in 'The Emperor's New Clothes'! So we open the book and go to Chapter One. Tublu does the honors and reads it out aloud "Learning to draw cartoons is really simple and easy" and this guy begins giggling again, "Oh didi, this is so funny". And we all laughed with him (being the oldest one in the group no license to being the smartest). And we laughed hard. In fact, Tublu had tears in his eyes. We gooses were laughing at How to draw 'CARTOONS', just because it said ‘CARTOONS’.
*Tublu is Tublu’s nickname
*Tublu is 6 years old at this party
It was my birthday and I was soooooo excited! Mom was preparing 'kesari' (fav fav!) and there was a nice cake waiting for me to slaughter! So there we were, me, all decked up and pseudo grinning (not letting my upper lip touch my lower lip- I was wearing LIPSTICK!!), two blobs of bright pink on either cheekbone, same bright pink on eyelids ...you get the drift... my brother, Tublu and this kocha kocha group of giggling, yelling, playing ball in the house kids! I was turning nine, oooooh nine!!
Due to some culinary issues, the party was getting delayed, and though I was supposed to wait until after the birthday bash to open my gifts, I couldn’t bear the suspense! So, when my folks weren’t looking, me, surrounded by the rest of the restless kids (especially Tublu) opened the first one! It was from my parents and was a book (sigh...I know!) that said "CARTOONS" in big letters. The cover had a picture of a person, manipulating a stick figure to change the position of its hands. I understand what that meant now, but then....anyways, Tublu saw the 'CARTOONS' and began giggling, I really didn’t see the joke, and could empathize with the emperor in 'The Emperor's New Clothes'! So we open the book and go to Chapter One. Tublu does the honors and reads it out aloud "Learning to draw cartoons is really simple and easy" and this guy begins giggling again, "Oh didi, this is so funny". And we all laughed with him (being the oldest one in the group no license to being the smartest). And we laughed hard. In fact, Tublu had tears in his eyes. We gooses were laughing at How to draw 'CARTOONS', just because it said ‘CARTOONS’.
*Tublu is Tublu’s nickname
*Tublu is 6 years old at this party
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