Grey Shades

1 + 1 = 3

Its been so long since I posted anything. I was on stealth mode, so to say. I wasn’t suffering from writer’s block and in fact I have quite a few posts in my draft ready to be posted…but I did not choose to post. Wanted some alone time with myself, with family and close friends before the roller coaster ride started.  Yes, I understand there is a certain responsibility and discipline in maintaining a blog and I am aware I haven’t been fulfilling it. But try as I might, I am not feeling guilty about it. It was a conscious decision and I am not apologizing for it.

Warning: Long post. Verbal diarrhea follows

So coming straight to the point. I went into stealth mode, for some time even from my gtalk and facebook. I cooped into my shell. I was quite normal with my daily gang though. If you are wondering why, its like the darkness before dawn kinda situation And our dawn is the coming of our baby… Barely three weeks to go, unless the baby decides otherwise

The whole time since I got to know I was pregnant to now has been a roller coaster ride, although a very, very slow one. How I wished for March to come…and it still isn’t here. The experience was exciting, scary, heated, sad, happy, worst, best…you name it, and I have felt it.

No matter how much we took our time to decide and have a baby, when it actually “happened” it was just so overwhelming. I had always maintained with my parents, friends and husband that I would be adopting a baby when the time came. No one listened. Or, they listened and laughed. Except my husband who said, why do we even want to have children?

Till I reached my early teens I was brought up in a joint family where there were so many aunts bringing a new baby home. I have been around infants ever since I was 5 years old and I loved the feeling of babies, adored their smile, their cries, their smell… I enjoyed bathing and feeding (with a bottle, of course) them. Other than cleaning their poop and vomit, I was part of everything else. And enjoyed the experience. So why shouldn’t I have my own? I did want a child, that much I was sure…until I learnt how babies came into being.

It wasn’t until my later teens that I got to know about it. Movies with two fluttering flowers and the lady vomitting and wanting to have “khatta” was all I knew and had no idea what to make of it. None of the grown ups, including my mom, would explain it. “Your mom will tell you when the time comes”, said the others. “You are too young to know that right now”, said my mom. I think I did once suspect I was pregnant after a bout of vomiting. Sigh.. the innocense of childhood!! And then during my 9th std holidays or so, I struck gold. I was done with all my novels and library books and all the interesting magazines that were lying around the house. I was getting bored with nothing else to do. Then I remembered seeing a stack of my mom’s old Women’s Era copies – those of the late 80′s – that were bundled up to be given to the raddhiwala. Well, something is better than nothing, I thought, and went looking for it. In one of the magazines was an article about “how parents should answer those awkward questions that kids ask” and it was there that I got my answer. I did not believe it at first. After all we all know how parents lie to shut us kids up. I went to mom to try and coax it out of her one last time. When she refused I told her I knew how babies came to this world and if she did not wish to tell me her version, it was fine. She did not tell me her version. I went back and read the article 2 – 3 times and kept that copy hidden, all for myself.

Some time later we got Discovery channel. I was hooked on to it immediately. Then I happened to watch one of those “In the womb” kind of episodes. Maybe it was the same program. But that program was “it”. It told me everything I wanted to know about what I wanted to know. I also thought I knew how I was going to die. Somewhere during the program had me decide that I was going to adopt a baby.

Everyone in my circle who has ever “known” me knows about my fear of childbirth. I was so sure and stubbornly serious about adopting a baby for I did not want to go through the labor/delivery pains…like that saying goes: everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die. God alone knows when it all changed. When the fear actually turned into something else, maybe a dream that I wanted to live and experience. I was excited and quite in shock when I got pregnant. A baby? I mean, really, really, I am going to have a baby!!! We are going to be parents? We, Ashwin and me, who are still kids ourselves? And we are yet to feel “married” and all that and we are going to have a baby? And on the other hand, it was like, “Wow… this is the miracle of the century”. Hundreds of thoughts and emotions went through me when I got to know I was pregnant. And yet, behind all that, there was this ever-present fear that said, a few months later I would have to go through the fear I always feared. Just as we were getting settled to being “married”, I was gonna be a “mom” and Ashwin, a “dad”. Would I really get used to be called “mom” when all my life I have been called variations of my name? And Ashwin would be called “dad” and our parents, “grandparents”. Were we ready to share our life with another being in the house, in our lives? Oh yes, we were. But still there was this kind of unreality and dreaminess to it which I can’t really explain. I wanted to share the feeling and keep it to myself at the same time.

When I told Ashwin, he said in his usual style- “Oh…Ok!” When I told my mom her reaction was, “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” I did not know what to say. Looks like she believed I was going the adoption way all along.

Then began the wait. Waiting two days to go to the doctor for confirmation and further tests felt too long. When my scan reports came, it said I had subchorionic bleed which meant I would have to be on bed rest until further examination. For a month I literally became a vegetable. Mom stayed on with me for the month looking after, worrying, taking care, worrying, cooking, worrying, etc. I got frustrated having nothing to do, not having to walk, not having to ride… And of course the mood swings set in resulting in Ashwin and me arguing for anything and everything. The arguments only got heated up further each time Ashwin asked “whats happened to you?”, “now what did I do?”, “but this is ur favorite curry, and you say ‘yuck’”, “you were alright just a second ago, now you are crying.. you have become so unpredictable!” No matter how many times I explained, the next time he was the same clueless guy asking the same questions. Frustration levels had reached a new high. I hated my favorite food and could hardly eat anything and began hating food, in general. Thankfully there was no nausea and no food cravings. Secretly I did wish I had cravings just to irritate Ashwin. *evil grin*

Come month 5 and I was back in action. The condition was fine and I was asked to resume my normal routine. It felt so good. I still couldn’t eat, just the thought of food had me feeling like I was about to throw up. I started eating non-veg again, after a year and half of being a veggie. Although the situation got better it did not solve the problem. When finally month 5 completed, everything got better. My appetite grew a 100 folds. Ashwin was amused. He wanted to see how long I would take to overtake him on the weighing scale. He is happier now.

I missed riding a lot since I was told not to. I became too dependent on Ashwin and tagged him along with me. He did so without any complaints. He even took over most of the household work. You see, once my mood improved he went back to being a sweetheart

It was time to tell the near and dear ones the “news”. In one moment I told it to whoever I had to tell it to – via phone, chat, email, in person. I somehow could not bring myself to repeat it again – the moment had passed. Those who read the mail/sms replied with congrats and best wishes. Those who did not, I did not bother to remind them to read the mail or tell them again. One friend in Singapore sent me a bouquet of flowers and a packet of dry fruits . Another friend who stays nearby, and who I had invited home for the weekend so I could tell her personally rather than on mail/chat/phone, got to know from a common friend and when she came home she bought me cookies and another bouquet of flowers . Another friend came down from Pune for a wedding and bought me chocolates with a note that said – “because to be a mother does not mean a lessening of indulgences”. (I don’t have the pics of all these with me right now). Friends who had already stepped into motherhood came forward with suggestions for books, food, activities, things to do, advices, helpful links, horror stories and happy stories of motherhood, what things to avoid and what things to keep ready, and what not. Friends at work were the sweetest still… sharing their childhood and parenthood stories, the challenges they faced, helping me cope with my health at the same time. Each of them helped me prepare better and be stronger for the time to come. Those who weren’t mothers yet showered me with congratulations, asked after my health, my general feeling about the whole thing, helping me carry heavy stuff, sharing interesting articles they came across, etc and were genuinely happy for me. I am so thankful to have found such friends in life. Its true that they were happier for me than me myself . And in all that I am sure there are a few grumbling individuals who feel that I should have come out with the “news” sooner than I did. Sigh… And then of course parents and in laws, and all the relatives had their own experiences to share. All in all everyone knew about my fear and everyone tried to prepare me for the times to come. The baby shower happened just last week and was just that – a shower – of blessings and blouse pieces (both expected), gifts and cash (both unexpected) from relatives near and far.

The D-day is just a couple of weeks away. I can’t wait to get it over with… just get the delivery thing finished. After that I have the confinement period to worry about. Since I don’t like milk, curd, ghee, etc, its a biiiiiiiig problem for me seeing myself through the confinement period without any event. Just hoping all goes well and we have a healthy baby at our hands, in our lives. God, it still feels so unreal… Speculations are going around about the baby to come, when it will come, which gender it will be… and some have already thought of names even. And all the while Ashwin and I are the only two samples who have no specific-gender expectations. Neither have we thought of any name for the baby

I read, therefore I am ;)

I’m back… for now. I was feeling lazy and uninterested the past few weeks. Did not feel like writing or reading or working… All I could do and did was laze around. Having mom over for a month did not help things. Or rather, it helped a lot more in making me lazy After a month long of pampering, fattening and resting, it took me a couple of weeks to get back to normal during which time I was obsessed with finishing the 1000+ paged Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Finished reading it. Needed a quick fix thriller so read up two of JD Robb books and and here I am.

There were great things, good things and not-so-good things that happened over the course of the last couple of months and it won’t be a lie if I said its been a roller coaster ride.  This post isn’t about those things. This post is about the first love of my life – books. “Why do I read books?” – Uma tagged me with this more than a month ago. This question has been popped by everyone in my family and friends circles who have seen my insanity/obsession with books since childhood. Instead of answering that question in my otherwise to-the-point nature, I’ll take the liberty to talk anything and everything about my relationship with books.

I think it was in 2nd standard or so that my obsession with books began. My dad brought Tinkle home one day. Within 15 minutes I was done reading cover to cover. Started pestering my dad to get me more Tinkles. Fortunately, our then neighbors had loads of Tinkles with them. Borrowed and devoured them within days.

During the same time I think that we were allowed to take a book home for a week from our school library. Hundreds of fairy tales, Enid Blyton books (especially the Five Find Outers series, Enchanted Tree series, and all of the other hundred books of hers), followed by Nancy Drew and then my ever favorite Sidney Sheldon as I reached high school. Meanwhile at home, Tinkle continued to pile up in my book shelf. I did not like Shikari Shambu, Tantri the Mantri and Kalia the crow much..so skipping those, the rest of it would be done in 5 minutes. Tinkle Digests, other books by Amar Chitra Katha, Gokulam n a bit of Women’s era and Femina in between filled up the bookshelf. And I still have my collection although a few were stolen (borrowed but never returned, claiming never to have borrowed in the first place) by an evil character who I’ll call she-who-must-not-be-named.

Be it school/college books or story books, my books were the neatest. My handwriting was the best in the class…until kindergarten . My books never had a single tear, dog ears, water spillage or torn binds. The books remained perfectly neat from start of the year to the end. Anyone who borrowed my book had to promise not to tear, spill anything or dog ear. I was a nice kid who never picked fights with anyone, unless they did any/all of the above. Something as small as an extra pencil/pen mark on my books would come to my notice immediately and an argument would follow. You don’t want to know what treatment I gave people who did or tried to steal my story books. Its enough to say I was/am very, very possessive of my books. I’m not that possessive about my husband even. I even go to the extent of repairing the tears on borrowed books (from friends or the library) with gum tapes and fevicol – I just can’t bear them torn and dirty. I had my books from KG class to 10th maintained in the best shape possible but unfortunately had to give it away in PUC to make way for new books. Broke my heart. Although I loved my school/college books as much as my novels and story books, I did not read them as religiously as I did the latter. I can still hear my parents shouting, “If you read your study books as you did your novels…blah blah blah..”

There was a government library just opposite our Iane in Bantwal. Got myself a subscription there but realized that I had read most books they had. But I still went there at least once a week just to smell the books… mmm… I started reading Hardy Boys and Alfred Hitchcock then. Don’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that it closed after a few weeks. Got myself a subscription in another library in B.C.Road. Oh, that one although small, was heaven. The librarian there was a kind gentleman in his 70′s and he “knew” his books. He suggested some nice ones, like Stephen King, after getting to know my taste and I loved so many of them. And yes, the smell there was heavenly too.

Every vacation we traveled to different places. During all those car/bus/train/plane rides, I had to have my books with me. No bookstore in the vicinity ever went unvisited. Parents thought it better to have me reading a book than spend the same time sleeping, which worked just fine with me . Whenever we came to Bangalore, which was like once in 3 months or so, we *had* to visit Sapna Book house (there was no Landmark and Crossword near where we stayed and I did not even know if they even existed back then). I could spend days there and always loaded myself with all the books I wanted. Of course there were arguments with dad then -”We can’t carry so many books. Leave some now, buy them next time”. This would repeat each time. I loved the bookstore so much that I remember telling my parents that I’ll be a salesgirl there – I could get to be around books all the time, read the books as soon as they hit the bookstore, spend hours there without anyone telling me to get out, and get paid for spending my time there. Getting me outta the store was a chore for my parents and a moment of dread for me. But I made sure I spent every moment well while in there.

It was when I first came to Bangalore on work that I found the pirated books at every street corner. With my own money to spend, parents not around to discourage me from buying pirated books, you can guess what I did. Although I try as much as possible to buy original ones at stores that sell original ones firsthand or secondhand, there are times when I *crave* for a book. I have to get myself a book and the handiest and most convenient find is the street side book cart. If there is one unlawful activity I indulge in, it is buying pirated books.

Since childhood I have given my parents a lot of grief over books – the breakfast/lunch/dinner times always began with an argument between dad and me. I had to have my book with me for even a morsel to reach from my plate to my mouth while he did not want me to mix food and book. At times when he won, I have finished my meals within seconds – I had to get back to my books. The same was the case in the night when lights were put off. Since I wasn’t supposed to put on the lights again, I read the books under the blanket with a torch light. It was after a very long time he realized why the battery of the torch got over so soon each time. My visits to the loo were monitored so that I did not carry any books inside with me. And I always came up with innovative ways to sneak books in with me Once I started working, the only time I got to read my novels, was in the loo. And I still do. The fights over books were one of the constants when I was growing up. I wanted to carry it when we went for the annual car festival (teru) – there was almost two hours’ time before everyone would be served meals, I could spend it reading. But my parents did not allow that. “Meet your friends…Sit there and chant instead… watch people..” was all I got. And then the times when I wanted to take it to school, so I could read in between classes. I did sneak books on a couple of occasions though. I had equally crazy friends who understood my “love” for books since they were too. Those were the days

When I was to get married, the first thing I told my then fiance (now husband) was that I have a habit of reading books in the loo and that I am not giving up this habit for anything. And if he can’t live with that, he better learn to. Imagine my surprise when I found out later that he loves books too (although his choice of books are very different from mine). I was further shocked to learn that he too read books in the loo!! Yes, marriages are made in heaven. My dream house has a mini library in the bathroom. I imagine a jacuzzi with warm water, lighted scented candles, soft music in the background and the juiciest thriller/mystery novel in my hand… Wow!! That’s heaven. Can’t wait to get there some day A windy hilltop or a cool riverside would do well too But until I get there, I’ll do with my sofa, my bed.

So coming to the question why I read books. I always say its for entertainment. You know, like how some people enjoy movies, cricket, mobiles, soap operas and video games. Since I don’t indulge in any of those, its books for me. But in reality its more than that. Books were my first companions when I grew up, my best friends and my comfort cushion of sorts. A book comforts me like no other, a few minutes with a book cheers me beyond anything else I can think of. When I am reading, I am actually inside the book, going with the characters wherever they are going, looking at everything as if I am with them. I like the scenes unfold before my eyes, not in the black and white of the pages I am reading, but in full color like a movie. And the names are pronounced/read like I want them. The sets, characters, their clothes are as per my imagination, mostly just as they are in the book. One of those reasons I prefer books over movies. I skip most movies that are adapted from books. I don’t like the feeling I feel when a book-based movie is badly made (like the Harry Potter series), not being true to the book, the actors don’t match the characters in the book, etc. It just spoils the magic and kinda squeezes out the essence from the book. The only movie which I preferred over the book was “To kill a mocking bird” because I couldn’t bring myself to finish the book. After HP, I promised myself that if I won’t ever watch a movie before I read the book. I still haven’t watched the Bourne series and LOTR – I’m yet to read those books.

Sometimes I feel jealous about the authors who spin the magic in their books and sometimes I am annoyed with some for writing crappy things. I feel my time on earth is not enough to finish all the books I want to read… I am also a bit into occult sciences out of curiosity.. I used to do a bit of palmistry after I laid my hands on one of the palmistry books. A bit of handwriting analysis as well, for a while. I did not get any subjects for trying out hypnotism Got into the other stream of nonfiction after meeting my hubby – all those “Men are from Mars…”, “Why men lie and women cry”, “The tipping point”, etc. I liked them too. Any book with a quick pace is a good read for me. But I stick to English books only. I don’t know why I haven’t felt the same connection with Kannada books.

All that said, I’m not crazy like a few crazy friends of mine who pre-order books and *have* to read a new book like a “first day first show” movie. I just have to have a continuous supply of books and that’s it. I don’t care if its old or new, first hand or second hand, original or pirated. Yes, love in some occasions, is blind

Some of my favorite authors remain Enid Blyton, Sidney Sheldon, Nora Roberts/J D Robb, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, J.K.Rowling, etc. There are so many others, I know I have missed them in this list. Some of them are one-time-wonders but I have enjoyed them all the same. Not much into classics. Just wish I had the ability to write stories like they do, to engross and grip the readers like they do me… Sigh, wishful thinking.

Updated: I forgot to mention that I even made a pen friend via Tinkle .  Our friendship started when I was in 8th std and we are both closer to our 30′s now. Started with inland letters which moved on to sheets and sheets of airmail paper, to yahoo IM chat, to phone, to mobile phone, to gmail/gtalk and finally face to face. We saw each other only in 2005 I think… and of course a few times after that. Who knew books could help start such a beautiful friendship!!

Tears

Some may call it a sign of weakness and some, a sign of cowardice. A few others may call it a weapon or yet others, a show of drama. My views differ from every one of them. When someone laughs in public people rarely label such people with the terms above. Why, then, should those who shed a few tears be called anything? Of course those who laugh for no reason are labeled mad in this already mad world. But isn’t it an assumption that you are making that the person is laughing without reason? Isn’t it the same when someone is crying too? Why should it be called bad manners or bad behavior, cowardice or weakness, or anything else? I have tried to understand these time and again. I am yet to find any answers.

(source: googled)

I have been one of those people who rarely holds back my emotions. Be it anger, tears, frustration, relief or excitement. That said, I am not a whining creature. If I have to cry, I cry and get over it. I don’t dwell on the negative aspects of the situation for too long. The positive ones, on the other hand, are cherished for life. The times I have tried to control my emotions I have noticed that I haven’t “lived” those moments or haven’t enjoyed them as I should have. So I stopped bothering about controlling them a long time ago. When I am expressing myself I rarely concern myself about my surroundings – whether I am alone or not, whether anybody is watching me or not. Rather, it does not really matter. But at the same time I am aware of my surroundings. Nowhere is there a law not to express one’s emotions. And until such a time I shall continue to allow myself the freedom to do what makes me happy, light and cleanses my system of the negative energies. As long as no one else is being harmed or hindered because of what I am doing, I don’t think anyone else has a right to tell me exactly when, where and how to respond to a particular situation. When I laugh, I laugh without any control. When I cry, I cry without any control. If any of you wish to call me a cry baby or a dramebaaz, go ahead. What you call me is none of my business anyway.

Talking about babies, have you noticed a child express herself? When she is hungry, irritated, happy, sleepy? She laughs or cries without any care in the world. And once she has eaten her fill or her irritation is subsided, she goes back to being happy again. Does it matter to the child that she is crying in a crowded train or in the middle of the night? Why should it change as we grow older? If anything should change it is perhaps the decibel levels and nothing else.

So when do the tears come (yes, the tears “come”, I don’t “bring” them) exactly?
Well, for me, it comes for any and every reason that cannot be expressed by words. When I am angry beyond shouting, hurt beyond consoling, happy beyond words, relieved beyond gratitude…at those times my emotions flow without control. When I see that my friend is sad and I am totally helpless and I know that no amount of consoling would help, I cry. When someone shouts at me and holds me responsible for something I have not done, and I cannot shout back, the anger flows as tears. When I have done and keep doing things in my power and energy to make someone happy and that person takes it all for granted without even noticing it, there is frustration that no amount of consoling afterward will help but tears. When there is something I feared the most and the hurdle is overcome, there is relief, there is gratitude in my heart… and there are tears in my eyes. When a friend does as simple as gives me a patient ear when I am without any hope, or throws me a small surprise dinner on my birthday, there is immense happiness and a prayer of thanks to the power that be, for helping me find that friend. There is love that flows beyond words and a silent promise that goes with the tears that I be a friend as much as he/she has been, if not more. When my parents did the Kanyadaan there were tears uncontrollably flowing even then. Do you think I could put so many emotions that flow simultaneously with such force, into words? Do you think I would be wiser to keep them deep in my heart and not “live” the emotions?

I cry when I am watching movies and reading novels too. You would think it to be funny. But when I watch/read a movie/book and someone (animal or human immaterial) dies, I do not cry for the reason that someone died. I haven’t cried for certain real people who died in my vicinity. I cry for all the “life” that person had and the abrupt end the death brings to their hopes and dreams. I cry for the million people who die every minute with so much pain, so many dreams in them. I cry for those also who forget to live life when they are alive. The story onscreen maybe about the character but it is definitely not an isolated situation. I cry when I watch the blast footage on news channels. I cry for the helplessness, I cry for the survivors who loved those who died. I cry for their sadness. When I watch war movies, I cry for every soldier and their family who has had to stay away from their loved ones for so long… Their only dreams might have been to look at their parents, lover, wife, friend and child just one more time before they gave their life for the country. But the strength and determination to put the country above all else and give their life… I cry for them in pride.

When someone says something so thoughtful in a certain situation, when someone stands up for something/someone, when a baby smiles, when a mother cries, when the lovers meet, when the most cherished dream comes true, when a battle is fought, when someone is forced or bound to do something for another, when one consoles another with just a silent hug, when an animal loves you for no other reason but to love you, when some words/gestures touch you so deep…what can you possibly say? Isn’t it too beautiful to try and put them in words? Aren’t the feelings far too deep to try and pin a feeling on it? I let myself go and allow my feelings to feel it and express it any way they want. And if my feelings choose tears to express themselves, so be it.

We have been given so many emotions, so many feelings, so many situations in life to feel them all. And yet, we think controlling those emotions is a great victory. I would rather show my courage for far greater things than controlling my emotions. For me, a person who has the courage to express those emotions in any way he/she likes, or makes them feel “alive” is far more braver than others. When the tears are real, there are real emotions behind them. Those who fake it and/or use it for purposes such as blackmail or to hurt someone for no better a reason than to hurt are just misusing the value of tears.

Maybe for some of you controlling your emotions come easy. But if you are trying too hard to “control” it, you are definitely missing a slice of life, and the joy it brings to emote. If someone thinks that you are a dramebaaz by doing all that, well, what do you care. All that matter are your feelings, no other person could comprehend at any time what you are feeling. Sometimes there is more joy in letting go than there is in controlling something. Your emotions are one of them. Go on, live your life.

Father’s/Mother’s Day – Does it really matter?

I did not write ‘I love you, mom/dad’ messages on my Facebook wall. I would rather tell it to them directly – on any day, everyday.
I did not gift them flowers and chocolates on Mother’s/Father’s Day. You call that a surprise?!!
I did not write copy-paste messages about how much my mom/dad cared or sacrificed for me. They have done a lot more, words aren’t enough to say it all.
And I neither wish them “Happy Mother’s/Father’s Day”. Because one day could never be enough to tell them I love them.

More than what I have done for them, or could do for them, they have done for me. I couldn’t even begin to write all that. So I’ll just say, I choose to love them differently. Instead of creamy, rosy words, I chose to never lie to them or keep them in the dark about anything that goes on in my life. Some major life-changing decisions were first told to my parents. I speak to them everyday. Even if it is the same mundane conversation – what for breakfast, what for lunch/dinner – every day. I compliment my parents when they cook well, dress well or do something nice/good. I have taken gifts for them on days they would least expect it – their expressions during those times are priceless.

The freedom that they have given me is my most treasured gift – more valuable than anything I could give them. To have trusted me with my decisions and my life and the way I wanted to lead my life. I could discuss guys with them, I have literally drooled over Hrithik Roshan in front of them. I have watched movies like Titanic with them and I was 14. Isn’t that freedom? Yes, in some cases I have had to fight and in some cases they surprised me with the level of maturity they handled things – like I would expect my dad to fly off the handle at a given situation but instead he was calm and controlled. I would expect my mom to tell me to shut up but instead I was given more than I needed. I love them for that.

Having said that, it would be a lie if I said my parents made me the person I am today. A lie if I said I took my problems to them, discussed my pains with them, confided only in them. Because some problems I have dealt on my own, some problems I have shared only with my friends and some other problems in my life, I think, everyone around me knows. I cannot credit one or two people for making me the person that I am today. I think every one of them, every situation, every thing in my life that has happened so far has made me the person I am. I do not share so many of my parents’ beliefs, I do not always trust all the people my parents trust and vice versa. We disagree on so many things on so many levels. It would be a lie to say that I haven’t been mad at them. We have had fights, we have had “moun vrats” (silent treatments) from one another, we have shouted at one another. I have been caned on so many occasions (as a kid of course), been scolded and what not. I have been through the whole cycle of my-parents-are-the-best to my-parents-dont-love-me-at-all to my-parents-are-the-worst to there-could-have-been-no-better-parents-for-me. They have been parents, they have been friends all in their own good time. In simpler words, they may not be perfect but they are the best for me.

You would think it is easy for me to say all these because I am the only child, that we had/have only one another. But our lives have been anything but that. I don’t think I had a normal childhood. But we have been through the worst and lived every moment of life, good or bad, together. And I think that’s enough to bind us to one another. You would be wrong to think that they gave me everything I wanted, and right, if you think they gave me everything I needed. And that probably made all the difference. I was treated like any other child. We had a maid mostly but when we did not, I had to do my own dishes and had to sweep/mop the floors – at least one room. I had to do my own laundry whether or not we had a maid. All this was actually quite a learning. If they had doted me and given me special treatments (I did get a few actually like I could get up late on Sundays ), it would have probably made me dumb. But yes, I did have a very sheltered life till I reached adulthood.

And for all that, and more, I am grateful. There is so much more I would like to do for them and I hope I will be able to do all that in this lifetime . But then again, I will not say that I would do anything for them. Because I know my limits- I would never drink milk or eat vegetables I hate just to make my parents happy!!

Bangalore TMM – Episode 2

On Saturday there was the testers’ monthly meet (TMM) at Embassy Golf Links. This is the second episode of the Bangalore chapter while similar TMMs were happening simultaneously in other cities. I couldn’t attend the first episode which happened on a weekday due to other commitments. Anyway, this event promised to be interesting and it was.

I was at the venue by 8:30 AM since I was one of the volunteers who had signed up for the event along with Ananda who was driving it on IBM’s behalf. All the things were already taken care of by the hosts (ITB) and there was nothing much for us to do. The event was supposed to start at 9:30 n that’s when the first of the glitches started to appear. It was arranged to have a free pass for all the guests, meaning there was no need for them to sign any book or collect the visitor’s passes. But then the security people came up bang at 9:30, to ask us to announce the guests to collect the badges n sign the book. Ananda had some heated discussions with them and it was decided that they will have a counter inside the venue so that the guests are not caused much inconvenience. In all of this the event was delayed by 15 minutes or so.

Rahul took over the stage trying to candidly engage all the attendees in a general discussion on testing and their expectations out of the event.

Pankaj Sinha (Director for Rational products, IBM) gave the welcome keynote talking about IBM, jazz.net and software quality in general. Following him, Vaibhav Srivastava (Software Developer, Rational Quality Manager) gave a talk on, (ok, the topic went by…) “Learning Greater confidence. Improved business performance. Delivering software”. Simply put, he spoke about Jazz and RQM. Although this talk was good and brought forth some good discussions, for me, personally, it was a tad bit disappointing because it focused more on IBM and IBM products rather than how it can better a tester’s life, as I had anticipated. The talk had to be cut short due to time constraints. Following this was a demo/talk on “Browser extensions for web security testing” by Avnish Tyagi (McAfee). He gave a demo with a sample web page and how SQL injection can be used by hackers to get into your *secure* website. He used TamperIE (and TamperData) for the demo. I liked this session the best.

Narayan Raman (author of Sahi) came next with a short demo of Sahi and how it can help in web automation.

Then came the “problem on the table” part wherein anyone could come forward with their query/problem on the job. The rest of the attendees can pitch in with their opinions and suggestions. One of the attendees, Sunil, came up with his question – In his organization they need to write very, very descriptive test scripts and send them across to the onshore team for English checking. His query was why should someone write such test scripts? Shouldn’t the focus be on the test cas es that dig out defects rather than how many words in English a particular step can be expanded to? There was a huge discussion, varied responses by testers from varied backgrounds and experiences. (You can join in the discussion in the comments section and tell me your opinion. I’ll tell you my opinion then ). A couple of others also put forth their problems which started the passionate discussions yet again. It was so much fun. It was nice to see the passion and energy with which each one was putting forth their point. If you were an individual without an opinion of your own, you would be forced to agree with either side of the argument

Some of the participants were Pradeep Soundararajan, Santhosh Tuppad, Parimala Shankaraiah, Nikhil Bhandari among others.

There was a tea/coffee break somewhere in between. At the end of the event snack boxes comprising of samosas, chips and cake were distributed. Most of us opted for more than 2 boxes since the original number of participants who registered was 100 but only about 30 or so came in. Discussion groups broke out here and there during this session and at about 2:15 or so, everyone dispersed.

Friendships and Breakups

This post is dedicated to all my very dear friends for being in my life and making the ride absolutely worthwhile. And to all my ex-friends for the show-and-tell bumps and twists which helped me value true friends so much more.

There is a saying that goes – Do not burn bridges behind you. But somehow I haven’t been always able to adhere to it. I can be quite unforgiving about the lies and betrayals “friends” have done to me. I give them second chances, and a third. But when I am repeatedly being lied to and betrayed again and again, that is the time I have to decide – to let go.

Yes it is hard… Hard, when situations like these come up… when the person you trusted with a secret goes around spreading it, a person with whom you shared you biggest fear makes fun of you for it, when that person simply cleans up the corner of the heart where you thought you lived, without thinking about your feelings, who did not think of confronting/questioning you before going to a third person and talking behind your back… who accuses you of things you couldn’t imagine doing even in your dreams… who behaves like one person with you and becomes another person behind your back…who take you so much for granted, who take the liberty to talk rubbish about your family… ah, the list can go on. Yes, it is hard. I have had my share of all these personalities as my “friends”. And with time I have bid goodbye to them. At times I have been left so heartbroken. I cannot forgive them (at least not at that moment), I cannot forget them. I just let time to take its course. With time, I lose all feelings towards these people. I neither hate them, nor do I respect them. I do not have any opinion about them. My heart cannot love them, my mind cannot trust them. And I never want to see them again. I do not regret my choices because I know I have given them chances- I have trusted them with my heart and soul when we were “friends”. I have kept their secrets with me, I haven’t made fun of their fears and I haven’t pretended. In my heart I know, that I have given every chance to keep the friendship but sometimes it is better to lose one and keep peace with self than to keep the friend and have hard feelings about them. Because it is very hard for me to pretend that everything’s all right when nothing is. I believe in traveling light and at times I have to cut the fat and trim my feathers.

And yet I know of people for whom all the betrayals mean nothing…. It is this type of people I do not understand. Of course, what they do in their lives is none of my business but I am just wondering… Is there really such a thing as a win-win relationship? Some people betray you, treat you badly and yet you have these people around you, especially when you have the chance to not have them in your life? These people are still friends so to say, they are in your facebook friends list, your email and on your phone. Your graduation photos are shared with them, so does your wedding invite and baby pictures. You behave like everything’s fine. But still talk ill about them behind their back? You keep tabs on their life, what they do/don’t and give your opinion for every action of theirs. Isn’t it better to let them be and get on with your life rather than dwell on their life and talk again and again and again about how badly they treated you? We all talk things repeatedly until we get over it but these people never get over the things and by being in their lives still they only add to the negative things to talk about. Is it the fear of confrontations? Is it really about “do no burn your bridges; you never know when you will need to cross it again”? I also wonder, is there really such thing as a forgive-and-forget? Can one really, from the heart, forgive someone and move on with life as if nothing happened? Can one really stand up for such a person and fight for him/her. I know I cannot.

Friendship, to me, is more than sharing a meal together. It goes a lot deeper than watching a movie together. It’s about being comfortable in my own skin in front of them and vice versa; to let myself be vulnerable and know that they won’t take advantage of me. To let them see my worst side and still not judge me. And the same holds for me too about my friends. I do not expect anything from my friends except that they do not lie/betray me. I guess I am different from others in a way that I do not remember which college my friend went to, which god he/she prays to, which language he/she speaks and I do not even notice if they are wearing the same clothes as yesterday until someone else does. The new clothes/footwear/jewelry/gadget, the new nail color…I barely notice these things. Heck, I don’t even remember birthdays and anniversaries. Does all that make me a bad friend?

I trust my friends to tell me when they need me, because these days all of us are not able to meet as often as we would like to. When I need them, I have reached out to them as well. When we meet, we discuss all the insane things we did together, throw comments on people we know or do not know, we can barely stop talking and we keep jumping from one story to another, one topic to another. We talk so much its like we have met after eons whereas we would only have been apart for like an hour. Or we might actually be meeting after eons and the conversation flows like we just left it halfway an hour back. And sometimes, silence is enough to say everything we want to say. I would fight the world for such a friend. I am quite protective about all my friends, after all we have pieces of each others’ hearts inside of us. That is why I take my time too, to make friends. I can’t be friends to everyone because I am very particular about whom I call a “friend” and when I do so, nothing can shake my faith about them but them alone. Over the years there have been umpteen breakups in my life but the ones that are still with me and the new ones that will come, you nuts and crack pots have all made it worth my life. I do not want to take any names but I hope you understand that I am talking about “you”. You know it and I do not need to tell these things to you but still… I want you to know that I’m here for you, like I have always been. And life’s amazing with you in it

The News Phobia

When I was in school, we had the school assembly every Monday and Friday. The entire school assembled on the ground in neat rows, wearing full uniform (uniform + white socks + black shoes). The prayer would be sung by the group that sang the prayer everyday. Each week, a student from a different class gave the thought-for-the-day, someone from the same class read the newspaper headlines. The HM/teachers would make some important announcements and then everyone dispersed to their respective classes. It was one such dreadful assembly that had me red with embarrassment in front of the whole school.

That week it was our class which had to give the thought and read the news headlines. Someone had already prepared the thought, and the person who was supposed to read the newspaper was absent. It was chaos in the class as another girl and I went around the class asking everyone if they would read the headlines. We got various excuses -
“I did last time”
“I am doing next time”
“I am not doing”
All done and declined, the only one who was left now was me! :-O I was OK giving thoughts and had done so already before but reading the newspaper was a big NO. I hated newspapers and never read them. I had no idea which section appeared where in the dozen sheets of paper.  “Hey please, I can’t do this, please…”, I almost pleaded. “Come on, you can do it. I’ll mark all the pages and headlines for you. All you have to do is read..” Reluctantly I agreed. Just as she found the pen to mark the news, horror of horrors, the bell rang and it was time to go the assembly. “Just read the big letters and you will be fine”, she shouted just before we went our separate ways – she to stand in the line on the ground, me on the corridor/dias. Before I knew it, it was time for me to go forward and read the news. I read the first page all right, the second and third pages too. From the fourth page onwards there was no distinction in font sizes – all headings were in the same sized font. From there on, I read a couple of them here and there. Disaster had begun. I turned the page, scanned left, read, scanned right, read, turned the page,scan…. I started to hear giggles from the student. Then someone hissed from behind -”Enough Namratha, read the sports page and come back”. Did that.

Next few days I had my head down. I promised myself I would read the newspaper everyday. I did that for a week- it was too depressing to read it. I do not know if anyone else still remembers the episode but being one of the most embarrassing incidents in my life, it’s hard for me to forget it. Now though, it does look and sound funny but you can’t imagine the kind of curses I threw at everyone who could have but did not read the newspaper that day

I still do not read newspapers. If I do, I end up with a bad mood, a lot sadder and helpless. The news-phobia still continues but these days in the form of Arnab Goswami, Barkha Dutt and Rajdeep Sardesai.