The year that it was.

Third year started off on this note- “I have to live with four random people in a room. Boy that’s going to be tough! “. After spending a whole year with one of my closest friends as a roommate, having to live with anybody else seemed like a nightmare. All efforts to try and get a better room went in vain. So finally, after a lot of convincing and assuaging, I reached college with a skeptic mind, and the last thing I was looking forward to, was to be living in that “godforsaken room”. The day I reached college, which was a month later than the others, I was welcomed into my room by four smiling faces and a bright “Hiiiiiii”! Out of those four people, one was a good friend, one was “just another girl from my department”, and the other two were complete strangers. For the elaborate person that I am, it took me an entire day to unpack and make my work desk look as “home like” as possible. It’s always nice to wake up to a clean place, even if it is miles away from home. My new roommates looked at me all day long with the “What’s taking her so long to unpack?” look on their faces, and although I could sense it all along, I took my own sweet little time to get done. One of the main reasons leading to my apprehension about living in that room was about how clean my roommates would be. But as luck would have it, they turned out to be innately clean people, and as time went by, we started taking pride in the fact that our room was one of the cleanest in the corridor. Yes, little things like these do matter sometimes. The simple “good morning” and “How was your day?” slowly took the shape of “Come let’s go have dinner” and the standard engineering college line- “I’ll give you company and stay up all night to finish portions for tomorrow’s exam!”. When you understand when to wake your roommate up in case she’s late for class, or get her coffee on the way when you buy some for yourself – these are little things that make you feel the strengthening of a bond, which never existed in the first place. Late night gossip sessions, maggi, Sunday morning clearing up schedules and pulling each other’s leg over almost everything, added to what I now call some good friendship. This room and it’s inmates have seen me laugh out loud, mess up a paper and scream out in frustration, weep after fighting with a friend, handle awkward situations, share the day’s experiences and been with me through one of the most crucial years of engineering. When you end up living with four people whom you cannot take for granted mainly because you started off as mere acquaintances, it makes you realize that you are both praiseworthy and culpable for your actions. You automatically tend to think about how the other person would construe your words, which brings out the reticent mature person within you. It’s times like these when I realize that living in a hostel has made me a much better person for the good. As the year comes to an end in another day, I will stick to the cliché of “how time simply ran past”, because every day in the last one year has been an experience it itself. The idea of coming back to a room full of happy, concerned, honest and genuine people is an inexplicable feeling. Somewhere inside, it makes you feel good about yourself, because it’s people like these who make everyday life easy to live, and also the fact that, “acche logoen ke saath, accha accha hota hai” .

Looking back, just a little bit.

My childhood memories go back to the days when I lived with my family in an industrial town named Wadi, somewhere on the borders of Karnataka and Maharashtra. My father was a mechanical engineer in a power house, my mother was a full-fledged house wife, and me and my sister were kids who thought electricity and water came free of cost. Yes, back then, we had not the slightest clue about the existence of a telephone bill and an electricity bill, for my father's company took care of all such expenses. A huge house with all possible facilities, a beautiful garden, amazing next door neighbours, a very good school and wonderful friends- all this was a part and parcel of living in Wadi. I could ride my bicycle bang in the middle of the road, and not one soul would dare to blow the horn from behind, more because of the fact that there was no semblance of traffic there!
The day began with a bowl of cereal, followed by starting the walk to school after the morning power house siren, the chitter-chatter in school, walking back home for lunch, the afternoon nap, the "four p.m. fruit", the running and catching at six p.m (or "pakdam pakdaai", as we used to call it!), an hour of homework, dinner and bed time! No pressure whatsoever, just truck loads of life in it's best form! It was the time when the watchman at the colony gate to the gardener to my father's boss-anybody and everybody could walk into home, and receive the same kind of hospitality. A very comfortable environment filled with smiling faces-that was my childhood in a nut shell!
Some days back I had been to my little brother's school to drop him. And, God! For him, the day begins with an hour of abacus or spelling-bee practice, a tetra pack of soy milk, crossing one of the most busy roads in the city to reach school, a box of bread and California grapes for lunch, a test or a dictation almost everyday, crossing the scary road again to get back home, followed by some more abacus and spelling-bee practice, along with the homework and project work that's due in a week's time! It amazes me as to how the kid doesn't cry out loud in the middle of all this work!
Sometimes I wonder, was my childhood perfect, or was it just ignorant? Along with making sure that I perform well academically, my parents also made it a point to involve me in extra curricular activities and sports. The level of exposure that I had in that little town has made me what I am today. Although initially, living in a city was close to a nightmare, adjusting to it was not a very herculean task.I turned out to be the lucky one for I had the experience of living in both the environments-the peaceful one, and the "not-so-peaceful" one! But with the alarming levels of pressure on children these days, I only feel sorry for them and for their parents, because both of them seem to have become accustomed to this roller coaster of a daily routine.
Given a chance, I would most certainly turn back time and lead the "Wadi life" again. People say that life is not a bed of roses, but back there, it was a whole garden. And the best part being, I got a chance to play around in that garden and pluck little flowers of memories that will stay with me forever.

Take me there.

Take me there where everything seems right, where the nights are cold and the days are bright.
Take me there where there are no reasons to cry, where I can touch God and angels walk by.
Take me there where people love to share, where there are only dreams and not a nightmare.
Take me there where relationships last, where there are only good memories of the past.
Take me there where I can make my own choices, where there are no unnecessary voices.
Take me there where romance is a daily affair, where there is a lot of passion and love in the air.
Take me there where colours speak, where my thoughts and imagination can reach their peak.
Take me there where friendship is treasured, where sentiments and emotions are not bothered.
Take me there where there is no sense of loss, where time is in my hands and life can be put on a pause.
Take me there where nature has only happiness to give, where there are more reasons to live.
Take me there where raindrops wash away all sorrow, where everyone looks forward to a better tomorrow.

This is what keeps me going.

My sister is my better half, quite literally. She is that one person who understands what is running in my head by simply looking at me.  From the thought of eating pani poori on a rainy day or wanting to kill some irritating fellow, everything occurs to us at the same moment!

Initially, we did have our petty fights, but who doesn't! Then came a point in life when we were separated for a long time, and that is when I realised that she is much more than a sibling to me. When I am sick and weak, she is a mother to me. When I am confused and depressed, she is a father to me. When I am happy and crazy, she is my best friend! All in all, she means the world to me.

I do not distinctly remember my parents telling me things during my childhood. I have always looked at my sister and wanted to be like her. Her honesty, boldness, beauty and charisma are qualities that I have always tried to inculcate in me. I have always wanted to be her reflection, be as nice a person she is, make strong decisions the way she does and learn to love every moment of the one life that we are all gifted with!

Now, why am I being so emotional and sentimental and typing out all this? I came back home really tired after work today, with the only thought of crashing on my bed immediately! But when my sister opened the door with a broad smile on her face and said, "helllooo sisterrr!", that's when it struck me all over again that she is like oxygen to me! 

Her presence makes everyday worth loving and living, and that is something that I have learnt from her.

change- something that can make you not recognise yourself anymore!

I am a die-hard Bangalorian. A student from Delhi Public School, Bangalore, i grew up in a very cosmopolitan environment. Anything other than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, was "behenji" costume! Anything other than MTV and Channel-V was equal to not watching television! Only Nickelback and Oasis made music- no one else in the world could. Anyone who did not speak fluent english was a "villager". School got over, but I still remained the little snob from DPS. :p
Eleventh and twelfth standard taught me humility. It taught me to accept other people's intelligence, and also that it is alright to learn from someone who's smarter!
Then came that phase of my life when i was lost. I suddenly found myself in a town in Tamil Nadu, filled with, obviously, tamilians, and really smart ones, away from home, away from BANGALORE! Boy was that hard to digest! Being a "tam-brahm", as they call it in Bangalore, I found it tough to survive between carnatic music, bharatanatyam and curd rice, more because in a standard tamilian household, they are three very essential components of survival! People around me discussed M.S.Subhalakshmi and Vani Ganapathy- now that is something I had never done!
As the days passed by, I realised that carnatic music, bharatanatyam and curd rice are actually interesting things! Carnatic music was like food for the soul, bharatnatyam was food for the heart, and curd rice with some delicious "avakkai oorga" was food for the, let's say, a happy tamilian! I found myself getting inclined towards all this, and develop a special liking for the beautiful culture that I belong to, that runs in my blood, that I've been ignoring for so long. A small inclination took the shape of interest, and interest slowly developed into a feeling of wanting to be a part of the culture.
And that's how I took my first step towards becoming a hard core tamilian- I started taking bharatanatyam lessons! I enjoy every moment of the wonderful dance form now. My friends introduced me to the world of carnatic music, and now, solving math without T.M.Krishna or Ranjini Gayathri seems incomplete. My tamil improved, I started to feel comfortable in a salwar-kameez, and most importantly, I started to feel a sense of belonging to the culture every time i saw the Periya Kovil in Thanjavur.
Out of the four years of my engineering, two have come to an end. In these two years, I have seen myself change so much, that I cannot recognise myself anymore! But one thing is for sure. The new person that I see in the mirror everyday, is certainly better than the one that I used to see two years back! :)