The everything drawer

I have lived on my own for almost 10 years now. Dorms, roommates and alone, at this point some of my habits are clear and I should own up to them. One of these is the everything drawer. On the surface I am very organized, if you were to visit me today you would find my desk is clear of clutter, so is my kitchen, the bedroom and the living room. The secret to this is that I put all my random ridiculous bizarre stuff in the everything drawer. Here is an example of what you will find there- a newspaper, ziplock bags, windex, spare keys to the car attached to keys of my last two apartments, curtain rings, one purple sock, an old tea bag, and an outdoor extension cord. This drawer does not have one function; it is spilling over with confusion and smells a little (I think I left some cheese in there once). I bet the other drawers make fun of this one, they all have a purpose and are pretty, while this here is unattractive and kept hidden.

My relationships are not simple; they are full of baggage from the past and underappreciated at times. But hey, where would I go if I needed someone to understand why I was mean to the parent whose daughter reminded me of my sister?

I am cleaning my French doors at 9 pm and having tea because I feel awful and I love cleaning. As the relationship grows in depth it grows a little dark.

Just a reminder to myself and you.

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

Theodore Roosevelt (Sorbonne in Paris in 1910).

Sunlight and moonbeams

I am 25. It is the last line before I turn the page and the landscape changes. I have fragments of conversations floating in my head like the soap bubbles; I blow on them, ignoring them, refusing to let them touch me for fear of their becoming thoughts that I will have to read.

What is your mother like? Well, she is like me. And then I thought what my mother is like? Honestly she is nothing like me. I adore her, but like me she is not. I look like her. She hates disagreements. She hates strife in relationships; to her the goal is to get along and love each other. She loves children and animals. She seems to understand them in a way that most people are not able to. She loves making people happy, she makes fun of herself. She loves without judgment. To her it is the intensions that matter the most, not the final effect. And in her world, her intensions are always good. I don’t think I have ever heard her apologize honestly. She is fun, she is a charmer. Her humor is intelligent and sharp without ever being mean. She loves to learn and grow and is never self conscious. Her laughter is like music, she holds you without holding you back. She can say my name in a million ways and has a million different names for me. I can hear her voice and know how she feels. She is the most beautiful woman in the world.

Time travel.

So I love purses. All kinds, big/small, black/ yellow. I was recently in France where I indulged my love for purses like nobody's business, but this is not a story about my purses, it is a story about my life. I have so many purses that I rotate them – according to weather, occasion and so on. As I clean the purse that I had used a year ago here is what I find- shopping receipts, old gum, lipstick, notes that I made while riding the bus, grocery bills and to do lists, pictures, stamps, jewelry, gloves, cards that I bought but never send, stamps, airline tickets, lists of books to read, post it notes with directions. It is like being back in time, only this time I don’t feel the stress. I see myself struggling with the everyday, trying to get everything done, trying to be organized and succeeding some and failing some. It is almost like those out of body experiences where I want to go tell my past self that it is going to be ok. As I start another phase of my life and feel the stress and pressure building up I look forward to the day when this too will be just another phase of my life which I will look back upon and applaud the courage it took to step into the unknown. Right now, I just feel scared and frantic.

Confessions of a chance spectator-Part 1

Becoming a fairy/princess was never an ambition of mine. A few years back as I started reading Disney fairy tales to my younger sisters, I realized why. What kind of role model are these women? What in the world did Sleeping beauty achieve in life? Or even Cinderella, she was pretty and fair and blonde and worked hard and was a doormat till she was given cute clothes so she could look pretty and marry a prince and don’t even get me started on snow white . I shudder to think the kind of women we are helping create. My parents made a huge effort to find role models for us. I grew up with stories from different countries- India, Russia, China and many more. My parents introduced me to characters that were not just good or bad but complex. I learned to love and fear Baba Yaga when I was 5- a house made of chicken legs, who forgets that. I think parents are either too scared of doing something that has not been advertized or prescribed to them or too lazy to turn off the TV. I think parents are scared of children discovering that another way of life is possible; that people from other countries, other religions are not all that different. They are scared of answering questions, questions that are too uncomfortable to answer, questions they don’t know the answer to cause they have never thought about them.

I don’t think having children is a right, it is a privilege and it is hard work. People need to get that. It's not a passive process.

News

I have a ring. On my left hand. Its been a month.

Ponderings

She said: I am going to ponder my circumstances.
He said: If you truly ponder your circumstances you will need to pat your stomach and laugh out loud.
She said: True.

Mood: Happy. No, very happy.

I have a new blog-

Oh well I have another blog. It is about random nothings- news stories, science articles and funny weird things I find interesting.

Reflections

You’ve both been standing near the bus stop for over an hour now. She laughs at your joke and leans on your arm. He looks into your eyes and hears your thoughts. It must be time to go home but your moment is still unfinished.

Young shy innocent, you make me jealous. I used to be you.

Dec 2008:

December 13-1 am: See fire trucks outside, send good wishes to people who have the fire. Good wishes come and slap me on my face when I realize the firemen are actually running towards my apartment. Go out to investigate because it still seems surreal, none of the fire alarms are going off. Realize the building is burning and need to go back to the apartment to get my laptop. While people are running outside, I run inside to get my laptop- get made fun of in the news- http://www.sltrib.com/ci_11225303?source=rss bedroom is full of smoke by the time I get there so leave laptop and back-up drive.

December 13 11 am: Fire is under control but building not safe to enter.

December 14: 11 am: Get escorted to the apartment; realize things are out of place, stuff is missing, no burned laptop, no backup drive, no jewelry. The building was robbed last night. Thank you Murphy.

Later-

Take home exam was burned too, beats the dog ate my homework excuse.

Had my house burned but who cares lets eat pizza and bitch party.

Had my house burned but it still Christmas party.

Used the-my house burned excuse one too many times.

Realize I have the best of friends in the world. Thank you Shaili, Anurag, Sharanya, Aditi, Ken, Josh, Harsh Varun, Jodi, Allison, Mark and the many others who helped me without even knowing me. Thank you for offering to help everyone.

Realized I have the most awesome advisor and committee in the world!

2008 was awesome and Happy New year everyone!

The myth of the perfect relationship

It’s like a fashion magazine with photo shopped versions of artificial women in its pages; only there is no evil magazine, our girl friends are our enemies.

The friend with the perfect relationship- she has no problems, the guy is perfect, the man of her dreams, no they never have any problems, she only wishes you were this lucky. Some are more subtle, but if you hear closely, you can hear the insanity in her voice too, the total lack of honesty; the need to fool herself. Introducing - The lie of the perfect relationship.

Look at your grandparents- they’ve been together for 50 years or more. Do they say things were perfect? Does your grandmother say her husband is the epitome of perfection? If she is anything like mine she says the opposite. He is not perfect, neither is she. Real couples have problems, they have issues, and you probably need to choose many times in your lifetime if you want to stay together or leave. This is a real relationship and sadly I find that having a real relationship these days is apparently not good enough, just as having a real body is not.

Perfect relationship lies around me seem to be perpetuated by women, by supposed girlfriends, by colleagues. To me it seems like you are doing yourself and your friends a disservice by not sharing, sharing is good, sharing your troubles makes you realize you are not alone, it makes people respond in kind, you can see both sides of the issue; telling thoughtless lies, not so good. You feel guilty for lying; realize now you have to live up to these lies and feel even worse when you can’t. People around you now feel they have to tell the same lies for fear of being seen a lesser woman; same vicious circle follows. Single women feel they need to find these perfect guys who will make all their troubles go away. What a complete bunch of bullcrap women put themselves though, have you seen men do this? They don’t feel they have to tell their friends that their life is perfect they don’t feel the need to justify their need be with a person. Why do women? It is a hard thing to rebel against, this lie, when everyone around you is saying everything is perfect and you say it’s not; you are with a monster then aren’t you? Cause only that could make you say that it is not perfect, he must be beating you? What kind of low self esteem causes you to derive pleasure from an illusion; are we trying to fool ourselves or someone else?

While I was sitting on the balcony looking at the tea lamps.....

Every year, around autumn I find my thoughts tend to meander; instead of my usual brisk walk, I walk a little slowly. As the leaves change their color, and the air gets chilly I long for a cup of coffee and a book. But sadly my mind won’t leave me, I wonder about the year gone by, about changes and constants. About what is important to me and what it means to be me.

It changes, this idea I have in my mind of who I am. I am strong and confident and scared and a sham. I am an extrovert and an introvert, trusting and careful, kind and giving and mean and spiteful. But no matter what I am that day, I have this deep sense in my soul that I am all I have. This is not to say, I don’t have a great boyfriend, great friends and relatives. I am blessed that so many people care for me. But I have me, and to me i am perfect. I do wrong things, I see that; I will change and will have to, I know that, but no matter what- I am my home, I am my savior, I am my critic and my devotee.

Tattoos and memories

As she walks in the garden a slight breeze starts blowing. A stray leaf gets caught in her hair. It’s not a leaf, it’s a memory. It’s a memory with sounds and smells and tastes. It has too many details, details she thought she would forget.

Paris : The dark & rich aroma of coffee, a very handsome Belgian waiter and the sound my cute sandals made on the pavement.

Kerela: Green so green my eyes felt new. Lamps in the night and fireworks across the lake.

Bangalore: Home finally.

Mumbai: Humid bit fun. Loud but laid back. Dirty but organized.

Indore: Same old same old. Grandmother with some new wrinkles. Fragile yet potent.

Fun in the sun

Mountains or the ocean? Its the ocean for me. Every time.

Summer is almost here, hold on.

Of lies and perceptions

I am jealous, of happy people. Even fake happy people.

You can't be that happy, woman with chase checking account in magazine ad. Go away. Leave me be.
Stop making movies where the cute guy falls in love with the gorgeous woman, and oh by the way the gorgeous woman is actually supposed to be a geek. And oh we forgot to add, the guy has a fortune. Yeah sure.

Now I think I know.

Evangelists think fighting global warming will lead to more abortions. Woman posts video of her driving on the highway protesting against Saudi rules. Violent protests in Tibet. Good Indian food for lunch. Wondering where to hide from a gunman if he comes into the classroom. Grant proposal needs to be rewritten.Again. Bought flights for the wrong time.Delta customer service sucks hardcore. Need to work hard. Now. Need to work out more. Buy stuff for random people in India.

Starry Starry night. Coffee. Breathe in. Breathe out. Blessed Silence.

Desert Rose

I put my hand in the stream as the sun reflects off the water surface. It becomes a part of the stream, reflecting light, moving with a strange grace.

I think women are like that, they become a part of their new families, new environments, new cities, naturally and almost effortlessly. They breathe in the new air, new freedoms and customs and live like life had always been the same. I think we bend without losing our shape and let go without losing our self.

January-21-2008

I am going to be 24 in a couple of months. I am madly in love with life. Even when I am tired and sad, I love life. I love each moment in my life, I love the luxury of sitting on my table on this beautiful winter day and writing while sipping juice, everything about this moment seems like decadence.

Book review: The Kite runner

Writing is mediocre at best, the hero a whining coward, difficult to feel any sympathy for him, maybe he wanted it that way? The story, powerful in the least.

Invite only.

So, I decided I want to go invite only. I am not really sure why I did that, except that modifying entries to remain anonymous was getting old. This was supposed to be an online diary and then became something else, I think I want to try and go back to being a dairy.

Gypsy Dreams

First you hurt a lot, but that passed. Then you were sore spot, causing me flashes of lightning pain as I accidentally brushed over you.

You were then my battle scar, from life. Now as you fade away quietly, I am glad you are healed, but I also think I am going to miss you.

Letting go of a scar isn’t supposed to be sad?