tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74182269552339420732024-03-14T08:44:42.407+05:30Rants of a kitchen toasterKikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.comBlogger449125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-71167415733169381272016-01-17T14:06:00.003+05:302016-01-17T14:07:28.669+05:30I bid thee Adieu... perhaps for now... perhaps forever!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I am aware that I haven’t been updating the blog for quite some time now. And I could go about how I will be judicious in my updates going forward. But then again, we will all know that to be nothing but placation from my end, for God knows what!<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-45WXQ_x9Ekc/VptRQChSxYI/AAAAAAAARbM/NgZ24uye5j8/s1600/Adieu.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-45WXQ_x9Ekc/VptRQChSxYI/AAAAAAAARbM/NgZ24uye5j8/s200/Adieu.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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I have come to realize that this blog has been slowly dying. There used to be a time when I would write very regularly. But my life right now is so hectic that I can barely find time to do anything other than come home and sleep.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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It is not the right way to live life, I know. But for now, I need to slave. Perhaps there will be a time when I will find it within myself to take up blogging with the amount of seriousness that it deserves.<br />
Until then, I am closing this blog down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps we will meet in a different place, under a different name. Until then, good bye. And may the gods keep you well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-82737070505757784952015-08-01T23:14:00.002+05:302015-08-01T23:14:49.943+05:30On writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of every progress Man has made since evolving
from the quadruped ape that he was, I believe nothing comes close to the
monumentality that Language and Writing hold. He learnt to speak before he
could write… true. But his genius was revealed in the scripts he devised to
store his thoughts well into posterity. A strike of brilliance that would mark
the first step towards the many achievements that he would be known for. But it
all began with the written word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And what could be more profound that to be a
part of the magic of writing. Be it words we type, or (as I personally prefer)
words we write. Somehow, writing always appealed to my sensibilities in ways
that typing never did. There is something about the way we seemingly create
words out of nothing. Liquid ink or powdery graphite magically turned to words
that transform the senses… words of joy, of grief, of another million feelings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I came across my old journal that held all my
thoughts… some of them would be published in this blog but there were other
drabbles… some way too personal, some half-baked ideas of novels I plan to
write, and a few other poems that I might publish someday… or might not. But they
are all there, etched on paper, memories of days gone by. A part of me, immortalized
on paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-33868128867136371392015-07-29T23:33:00.001+05:302015-07-29T23:33:45.890+05:30I am<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am not your toy.<br />
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I am not someone you'd want to flaunt at weddings and funerals.<br />
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I am not your maid, cleaning after you, cooking for you, waiting on you hand and foot.<br />
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I am not something for you to fall on top of at the end of the day... or someone who'll be the punching bag for you to take out your frustrations on.<br />
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I am definitely not the wallflower, smiling demurely, underplaying my passions and ferocity of will just so you can feel better about yourself.<br />
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I am a free spirit... with dreams and aspirations as real and valid as yours.<br />
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I am not the gentle breeze that you conjure up with the flick of your wrist. I am the tempest that blows you away.<br />
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I stand by my convictions and shall not change myself to please you or anyone else.<br />
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I love myself the most. And it took me a long while to get where I am at.<br />
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I am worthy of love and deserve the best. I know it and shall not settle for any less.<br />
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I am the girl who'll wake you up in the middle of the night and take you moonbow chasing.<br />
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I am the woman who's sure of herself and respects herself enough to not take your shit.<br />
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I am the one who'll listen to all your woes and give you honest advice... even if it stings.<br />
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I am who I am... I am me... and not for a moment do I need to be anything else but that.<br />
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Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-8003104602459889112015-07-10T10:06:00.001+05:302015-07-10T19:50:59.285+05:30On Friends and what they say<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’re all human. We’re all flawed; some of us more than the others. And we do not like having our flaws pointed out. It’s only natural… we know where we lack and it’s not a nice feeling having people point it out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But sometimes, we need to have our shortcomings pointed out. And that is where true friends step in. We feel friends are those who uplift us when we’re down… encouraging us when we feel like shit. Yes, that is all true. But sometimes, the truest encouragement is not the kind words saying we’ll get our bearings, but rather the well-meaning kick in the back asking us to get our shit together. Now, it may seem harsh; even evil at times. But having been through depression at a point in my life, I’ll tell you this – that works wonders. Or rather, it should.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I had a friend give me the metaphorical kick when I was spending way too much money on things I didn’t need… heck, I would be broke a week within payday all because I had to go to this store and buy a feathered hair clip that I wouldn’t even wear! It was harsh… but I knew I needed it. And I can’t thank him enough for it. Yeah, at the moment, I felt it was unfair that he was being all bossy and what not… telling me how I should manage my finances. I thought, who gave him the right?! But now, I realize, him being my friend gave him the absolute right to do just what he did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">He didn’t mince words when he told me I was being irresponsible. I was. And it smarted because I knew he was true. And though I did sulk hearing that, I never dwelt on the hurt. I decided to see things from his perspective and I knew he was right. And he… he was a person who had been through some of the worst trials Life could throw at a person… and that too at a very young age. At a time when others were all going to college and hanging out with friends, my friend, he worked 2 jobs back to back while attending college and after graduation, went out and worked 2 shifts, just so he could clear off the debt incurred to treat his dying father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I understood he knew what he was talking about. He is street smart in ways I wasn’t. And if I am who I am, able to hold my own in a fight or in a crisis, it’s because of what I’ve learnt from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, the next time your best friend says something you think is mean, just pause… it could be that they have a point. Sometimes, the best way to get us on our feet is a good kick in the ass!</span><span style="font-family: AmerType Md BT, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-35527716041275307852015-04-18T14:44:00.002+05:302015-04-22T18:25:41.348+05:30Studying for that elusive N1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is something innately soothing about organizing one's life.<br />
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And I've always been one who appreciated and revered the ones who so meticulously planned every aspect of their lives, especially the ones who maintained daily, weekly, monthly planners and journals to boot! Heck, being an avid (read borderline obsessed) stationery fanatic myself, I can understand the urge to write everything down and plan one's future, bringing down the uncertainty about one's future a notch! But for the life of me, I cannot seem to keep up with the schedule of scheduling! I weep and tear my hair out trying to get through my days that are filled with incessant work and travel (not the sort one would enjoy!)</div>
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To add to the misery, I have to clear my JLPT N1 level this December. True that the exam is happening in July as well. But by the good lord above I know my preparation has been abysmal thus far! Heck, I haven't even started preparing with earnest! And not only do I need to clear the exam, I need to do it with flying colours! It's more for me than for anyone else this time! And with the JLPT levels out of my way, I can seriously shift focus towards other languages... (I'm looking at you, German, you sexy beast!)</div>
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I am on an almost frantic effort to get my life back on track, I've decided to blog about my planning and study progress. Not that anyone is going to read this... does anyone actually read my blog?! But this is more for me, I shall stick to a plan and follow it through, so help me God!</div>
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And this weekend (read Sunday), the trial begins. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_iVTo5b9C2Q/VTIgROciGhI/AAAAAAAAP9s/omE95vToQno/s1600/tumblr_l3533tVA621qa8kz9o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_iVTo5b9C2Q/VTIgROciGhI/AAAAAAAAP9s/omE95vToQno/s1600/tumblr_l3533tVA621qa8kz9o1_500.jpg" height="235" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please excuse the World of Warcraft on the screen! :P</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
P.S. To those of you who are absolute kindness personified and actually read my drabble (read stories), thank you! And don't you worry! I'll keep the regular posting going strong; as strong as I can muster!<br />
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Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-75901171866729493432015-04-11T18:40:00.000+05:302015-04-12T10:27:35.360+05:30They're at it again!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">I'm right back where it all started. My mother has decided that it's time for me to settle down and find myself a good, loving, intelligent boy from a well-respected family, from the same caste as me. If you're an Indian woman in her mid-late 20's, you'll know what I'm talking about!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span> <span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">No matter how <i>forward thinking</i> our parents claim to be, when it comes to marriage, most of them succumb to the pressures of the society and take to matrimonial sites for finding that perfect match for their children. They hear stories of people who've found bliss on the internet. This is like Tinder… only that mostly it’s the parents who’re swiping away to the perfect match.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Now, I personally have nothing against people finding love online. I have absolutely no bones to pick with anyone who feels it best to let someone else do the choosing of what could be one of the most important choices of their lives! Heck… I did that! I let someone else take the reins of my life and let me tell you, the ride was as bumpy as it gets. And I learnt valuable life lessons at the end of it.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">So you may wonder just what I've been smoking to be doing this again?! I mean, wise people learn from their mistakes, right? Well, let’s not be getting our panties in a twist, people!</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">I know I sound like a hypocrite. But if I were to stay out of this, things only get worse. It happened once. I didn't give a damn and before I knew it, I was married to a motherfucker who liked dicks more than I did! But, hear me out, dear reader. When I say I give a damn, I don’t mean that I visualize myself getting married to the men who seem interested in the warped image my mother has projected of me on that god-awful site! Heck, I wouldn't marry the girl my mom’s made me out to be! But today, chancing upon the gazillion mails from interested suitors brought a few things to light. And those things are worth sharing.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Matrimony is all about the moolah these days!</b></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Forget love; forget emotional compatibility and all the applesauce they say is important! The one thing you’re supposed to look at is his pay package! That’s right! As long as he earns enough, who the hell cares if he’s a closet psychopath with temper issues?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><b><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">People will strut their stuff like there’s no tomorrow.</span> </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">More than one profile that my mother thrust into my face had the guy smirking away at the camera like he was George Clooney’s long lost nephew! And the thing is, they weren't even good looking to begin with! Yes, I know I’m being a jerk. But, when some guy claims to be fair and would prefer women who’re fairer, I have a problem. Without a photo uploaded to substantiate my mother’s claims that I was fair in complexion, I’m also buried neck deep with requests for a photo, which brings me to the next point.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>If some of the people on matrimonial sites were actually serious, they’d be charged with felony!</b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">There was one request from a guy who was married and had decided he wouldn't get a divorce. But hey, he <span style="font-family: inherit;">wants another <i>understanding and loving</i> girl who was willing to live with him and his first wife… all as one big happy family. He doesn't have a job, his wife’s a house wife and so, he would like someone who earns a living and “is willing to believe in him that his business endeavours would succeed someday, somehow”. I don’t think I need to say anything further there!</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could go on and on, but I don’t see the point. It’s a little sad that what should be an organic, natural and almost an intangible transition into what is the most beautiful connection between hearts has to be so structured… so forced… so compartmentalized into categories. I don’t think I can ever fall for this. But then again, that does not seem to stop my mother from wasting her time on the site. Oh well, to each their own, I guess!</span><span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-51407082621565156942015-03-07T19:24:00.001+05:302015-03-07T19:24:43.051+05:30New place... new people... not everything needs to be for the better!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There
are far too many things in life that we mortals take for granted. Whether it be
health or the amity of good friends, we seldom realize their value until after
they have left our keeping. And then, we start yearning for what has been lost.
Sometimes, we’re lucky to gain it back. Sometimes, we’re not so blessed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've recently changed jobs. This entails meeting new people, forming new
friendships, meeting new deadlines… the usual. In my previous workplace, I had
made friends with the most amazing group of people. A group of friends that
feels more like family… and just as close! If I had my way, I would bring them
all with me wherever I went… working with them for a lower pay if need be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But
with the old company closing down its projects and my position as a language
specialist hanging in the balance, I didn't have the luxury of a choice. And
that is how I found myself in the new place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The work
is the same, voluminous if anything. But that hardly deters me. I love what I
do and if there is one trait I've inherited from my mother, it is to work hard
on the things I love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now
you may wonder, my dearest reader as to what it was that I missed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">True
Friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Friends
who have my back. Friends who don’t have an agenda of their own. Friends who’re
good at heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
people I see here in the new office (except a few… like my fellow translators)
are the type I normally abhor. With absolutely no regard for another soul,
their daily lives seem to pass away in plastic smiles and self-important
pompousness. And the worst sort of misogyny I've ever had to face!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Their
thinly veiled slurs at women they hardly know, grates my nerves so much that
sometimes, it takes all my resolve not to punch a few of these people in their
noses. The other day, I heard that they had coined a name for me as well… a
name that was coined the first day I walked into that office… for my interview.
Perhaps the fact that they did not know me seemed to embolden them to pass
sexist comments at my expense. I guess a few would tell me I'm overreacting
here… boys being boys or whatever! But I cannot see it in that light and you will
excuse my obstinacy in this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All
this while, I've been friends with men who’re nothing less than perfect
gentlemen. They don’t pass comments about the women that pass them by. They don’t
stare at women as though they’re looking at some hitherto unknown creature. And
they sure as hell don’t give women weird sexist names behind their backs!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And
to make things worse, the other women these pathetic excuses of men are friends
with seem to think they’re safe. All they need to do is turn my way to see how
wrong they are. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If
they could make such comments about me, there is absolutely no saying that they
haven’t done the same about them, if only within themselves… it’s a very sorry
business. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And every day I walk into my new office, I let out a sigh thinking
about the old place where all that awaited me was work and sincere smiles…
here, in every word is sheathed an inner meaning…. In every smile, there’s a
tinge of scorn and in every gaze, thoughts I wouldn't dare describe! </span><span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The only saving grace is knowing that these people would never be anything more than colleagues and I still have amazing friends in life... the kind that these men would never get or understand!</span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-86407657156088644762015-02-07T11:26:00.000+05:302015-02-07T11:26:41.197+05:30Chetan Bhagat...bringing Young India back to reading? Or is that a double edged sword hanging in your cupboard?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was woken up to find my mother shoving her smart phone into my face, almost squealing, "Read this! Read this!" I took the proffered device and blearily stared into the screen to see this - <a href="http://www.rediff.com/news/interview/aatish-taseer-india-is-semi-literate-and-chetan-bhagat-is-the-best-it-can-do/20150205.htm" target="_blank">'India is a semi-literate country and Chetan Bhagat is the best it can do'</a><br />
<br />
I had always remarked at the sense of mediocrity that reeked from most upstart Indian writers and how almost everyone was trying to do a Chetan Bhagat! I even had a friend exclaim that she was going to a book reading by some bloke named Ravinder Singh. He's the author of the book, "I too had a love story". I was intrigued... My friend was a person who was never the bibliophile! As a matter of fact, I remember being the butt of her jokes when I buried my nose in a book, as was my wont.<br />
<br />
A few days later, she showed me the photos from the day. They'd all gathered at the local Apple iStore and he'd apparently answered questions about his book and life in general. And then, he'd read a few passages from his book. It did not miss my attention that most of the audience were girls in the late teens or early twenties. And the fellow wasn't a face that only a mother would love. I didn't need to rack my brains that much to figure out what his USP was. But being the good fair sport that I am, I decided to give his books a try. The next time I was at a book store, I searched for his books and went through them... thumbing through the pages to get a feel of his writing style and narrative.... I have never put down a book that fast!<br />
<br />
Once again, he was so desperately trying to be a Chetan Bhagat. An author who appealed to the senses if not the intellect of Young India. A man whose books read out like a movie. A success story in the most commercial sense of the term.<br />
<br />
I personally don't hate him. I've read worse. But to claim that he got Indians back to reading.... now that, my friends, is something I just cannot agree with! When I was a teenager, awkward and shy, I turned to reading and writing to express myself. It was the only outlet where I could truly be who I was.... To write in abandon, not worrying at the least how it would be perceived. And in a way, my style of writing has been heavily influenced by the authors I read. Enid Blyton, the true queen of children's novels, she kept my afternoons engaged as I went on an adventure myself, with the Famous Five or the Secret Seven! And then it was Nancy Drew... followed by classic masters like Dickens, Alcott, Bronte, Austen, O.Henry, Mark Twain.... and a lot more! I had discovered Tolkien in high school and reading his works always brought a sense of belonging to me. I could go anywhere, read any book. But Tolkien would be like coming home! Then there was always John Grisham, Jeffrey Archer and Dan Brown!<br />
<br />
I was lucky enough to meet a few good people who introduced me to Dostoevsky and the other Russian masters! And I noticed that my writing had also evolved to include the styles of all the authors whose works had impressed me. And an amalgamation of the various styles finally settled down to become what was uniquely mine.<br />
<br />
In the midst of this Utopia of mine, someone threw in Chetan Bhagat. I had always rued that we had very few Indian writers to look up to. We had powerhouses when it came to regional literature... O. Vijayan, Kalki, Tagore to name a few... but when it came to English Literature, we Indians were really left wanting in some intangible way. If an Indian writer wrote well, they had some stint abroad... either they lived abroad and write their books there or at least had some other form of connection drawing their time and person away from the subcontinent.<br />
<br />
So, when I first discovered Chetan Bhagat, I was understandably excited. Perhaps this person could be the answer to my prayers, I thought. If millions were reading him, he had to be good, right?<br />
<br />
Well... I did read his first book. It was interesting... different even. And then I read his second... then his third. By the time I had reached Two States, something had become clear to me. His writing had a sense of commercialization to it. He wrote for the masses. He had his audience in mind throughout. And that, did not feel honest to me.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. We all write, knowing in a way that someone, somewhere will read what we wrote and perhaps like what they read. But to write solely for an audience robs a writer of a part of their soul. Recently, I started reading the History of Middle Earth series by Christopher Tolkien where he has put together most of his father's notes... and it gave me a chance to glimpse at a writer's mind. I saw Tolkien writing solely for himself first. The story edging its way out in bits and pieces and the writer having no peace till he has put it down on paper. I know that feeling all too well! I have countless notebooks filled with random drabbles that I daren't publish but would have suffocated me had I not written them out.<br />
<br />
A truely good writer manages to strike the balance... finds his inner voice and still finds an audience to write for. But more than the listener, for a true writer, the story is of tantamount importance.<br />
<br />
So now you see why I have an issue with Chetan Bhagat's books? They're loved by millions and millions of readers claim to relate to his characters... all of it is well and good. But that sense of hiraeth that one must feel once the book is finished... it is missing in his works. As much as I commend him for bringing people to the books, I sincerely hope they don't stop at his works alone. Let them move on to better authors... to newer ways of telling a story...<br />
<br />
Books are meant to liberate you... to elevate you.... to make you a better person. And somehow, I've never truly felt Chetan Bhagat's books did that for me.<br />
<br />
What be your take in this matter, reader?</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-28727150878094356852014-10-18T09:50:00.003+05:302014-10-18T09:50:45.539+05:30On Death and Hope<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">I
shall skip the formalities of apologizing for my lack of posts and vacant
promises on how I shall be more judicious with updates.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">My
father has met his maker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Yep,
the man who was a friend more than a father has finally taken the long rest. I
was there by his side when he took those final rasping breaths… Every moment of
that day is etched in my memory… and I have tiny panic attacks thinking of that
day! But all that said and done, I am glad in a way. You see, when someone is
in so much pain that they cry out for death every waking minute, Death comes to
them like a blessing from Heaven above. He had severe internal bleeding and a
complete loss of appetite… I am just amazed that his final moments were much
calmer and painless compared to how he suffered in life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'American Typewriter', serif;">I grieve
every day. And I know that this is one feeling that shall not leave me for as
long as I live. Everytime I see or hear someone interacting with their father…
every time they talk about how they did this and that with their daddies… I shall
smart inside. Because, I’m only human…</span><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">That
said, his death has made me a different person. I can now empathize with those who’ve
lost a loved one. All those condolence messages that I’d sent before my father’s
death seem so hollow and without life compared to the ones I send now. Now,
when I say I know how someone feels about the loss, I don’t feel like a
hypocrite anymore! And when I tell them that they’ll get over it, I don’t sound
like a jerk. Because we do get over death… we do carry on. We do survive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">The
grief is always there, it goes from being the numb unfeeling heaviness to a
sharp pain in the gut to a remnant feeling that is in the backdrop of all things
we do. My father was an amazing human being… a better human than most people I’ve
met. And he loved making people laugh. Now everytime I see his photo, I smile…
remembering the good times… knowing in my soul that he’s up there next to God,
making him laugh!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">If
anyone who’s reading this has lost a loved one, know this, brethren… Your loss
will make you stronger… you will survive! And you will become a beautiful
testament to the power of Hope and Love!</span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-51733132521123927022014-09-06T12:31:00.000+05:302014-09-06T12:31:21.306+05:30Hope... or what's left of it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">My
father is terminally ill… there… I said it! It’s not easy being diagnosed with
CML. And yes, when my father got the news six years ago that he had CML (a form
of leukaemia), our entire family was shaken. It was like the whole family was
diagnosed with it. So far, we’d only heard of people suffering from cancer. It
was very much an ugly word that was synonymous to pain, suffering and death.
Then, the drugs started and surprisingly, he had none of those side effects
that one associates with chemotherapy. We’d joke, saying that he had a very
expensive form of diabetes and that was all there is to it. We’d tell other
people about how he was battling the disease like a champ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">We
went through so much, in those six years. The ups and the downs. And then, a
day came when his body just didn't take to the medicine like it used to.
Fevers, bleeding, pain, drama… a good two months in various hospitals, with
doctors wringing their hands and shaking their heads, we decided to just bring
him home. The prognosis was that his disease had progressed from the chronic
phase to the next phase.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'American Typewriter', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">It
came as a shock. I guess we all knew from the start that the day would come
when the diabetes jokes would stop. One more stop towards the end. And then,
the real chemotherapy started. All the resolve I’d associated with my father
had gone, replaced with despair and hopelessness. I had to be brave and tell
him that everything would be fine, even if I knew I was lying. I had always
wondered what feelings would come out in the open when the end would be here.
Sure, we’re not there yet, but there’s a mixture of fear and sadness… and
strange sense of calm in the background.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">Now,
as he lies in bed, a mere shadow of his former person, I wonder how much longer
he should suffer before release. It’s a battle we've all been fighting, knowing
that the final wave would do us under, as is its wont. But still, there is
always this tingling feeling of hope that something good may happen in the
darkest of times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">My
mom and I have never been this close… and I must say dad’s suffering was what
did the trick! And we’re discovering newer strength in each other. Sure, there
will be sadness… and tears in the dark. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">But I know in the end, everything will
sort itself out. Hope… it makes the world go around… doesn't it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-60397952399895819732014-09-01T22:11:00.000+05:302014-09-01T22:11:08.599+05:30Oy Vey!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Today
was a day of mixed feelings… just like almost any other day. But the difference
is that today, I managed to feel the best of feelings with the worst!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">H-chan,
my soul sibling, (One of my soul siblings! But you get the point!) is back from
Shanghai. It was quite the surprise when I walked into work today, already
tired of all the imbeciles that I encounter during my commute and more inside
office, when I see his refreshing face and that dazzling smile welcoming me to
work! Sure, he’s going to be around only until his work permit is ready but
hey, I’ll take what I can and be mighty grateful, thank you!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">And
then there was the horror that was a meeting with the higher ups who were smarting
after having received a 3/5 feedback score from our Japanese clients. Now, they
want us to come to work at seven in the morning and also work on Saturdays! If
only they could see that people hardly have to interest to work five days a
week in this project and they’re slowly beginning to loathe all things
Japanese! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">From
the looks of it, I guess I had better start looking for other jobs. Changing
two trains and then getting into a bus just to get there at an unholy hour as 7 am is just not happening! I’d have to board my first train at 5!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Why
do things always go south after a vacation (even if I didn't go anywhere!)?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-76375441570856701372014-08-27T22:12:00.000+05:302014-08-27T22:12:12.798+05:30Soliloquy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Have
you ever felt that sense of helplessness as you watch the people around you
find meaningful connections to other people around them and you’re left all
alone, unable to relate to the ones around you and yet unable to withdraw from
it all and leave?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">I
guess people like me, we’re a doomed kind… we crave for the companionship but
we’re never happy with what we have. It becomes all the starker when we find
ourselves in the fringes. We’re never the centre of attention to anyone. We’re
just the ones that people fall back on and then, when it’s time for them to
move on, we’re left, cold and unwanted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Before people accuse me of being an </span></span><i style="font-family: 'American Typewriter', serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">attention </i><span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 16.866666793823242px;"><i>monger</i></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">, something that I've been
accused of being, by a few, some as close as family, let me clarify. I am in no
means villainizing the others. Power to you, well liked extrovert, for being
all that I want to be but never can!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">For those who've known me long enough, they never believe me when I tell them how much of
an introvert I am. They have always seen my smiles and the silly jokes that it
could never occur to them, bless their souls, that I could actually find it
daunting to speak to someone I don’t know! They forget all too easily that when
they first met me, they either thought me the insufferable bitch or the
infallible snow queen. Time… how he changes minds!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">But
am I jealous? No. I know I can never walk up to a stranger and strike a
conversation! I’d think up of a million scenarios where the conversation goes
south and I never utter a word beyond that point. I am aware of the many
opportunities I miss because of this habit. This blog was started initially so
that I could lose my inhibitions baring myself to the world. But baring your
inner thoughts on the internet is not even close to opening yourself up to
people in the real world. There are no delete buttons and you cannot close your
account when it gets overwhelming. You have to stand there and either suffer as
the people around you pick you to pieces or you run away to some place where
you know they won’t follow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'American Typewriter', serif;">I am
braver online than I am in real life. Funny… having been through the ordeals I’ve
been through (and still am going through), people scoff and call me vainly
humble when I tell them that I don’t feel brave. That I am not strong!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">If I
were truly as strong as they claim me to be, I wouldn't be here, writing this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">To
all my friends, old and new, I love you! Please don’t for a moment, think
otherwise. It’s just that when you run in that fast pace of yours, meeting and
greeting strangers, being so confident with your accomplishments, smiling and
dazzling the world, people like me get left behind. And sometimes… just
sometimes, we feel an emotion akin to resentment. The reason I don’t outright
call it resentment is because it isn't. What I feel when I'm in that position
is a feeling of mixed guilt, disappointment and just a dab of anger with a
copious dash of sadness.</span><span style="font-family: 'American Typewriter', serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'American Typewriter', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">When
we’re in a group and suddenly, I am not longer part of the conversation, I feel
this emotion. Strangely, I seem to innately feel when someone else is left out.
Maybe they don’t mind. But I feel them, and my attempts at including them in
the conversation has irked quite a number of people. I guess we know what it
feels to be left out, the introverts who’re dying to have someone pay attention
to us… acknowledge our existence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">They
lie when they tell you that love is the greatest gift of them all!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">No…
to be heard and to be seen… that is what everybody craves for. We humans are a
depraved and pathetic species like that… it’s all about us… it’s always about
us. And sometimes, when you’re left out, you realize it all too soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-69874564362864640532014-08-15T20:20:00.000+05:302014-08-15T20:20:31.655+05:30The pencil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">They’re
both present. They’re both ready. She seats herself in front of the speaker
phone. Her notebook is already open to a fresh page and her writing instrument
of choice is all set for action. The engineer seated to her right takes a peek
into her book. She’s clearly written the date of the meeting and places her
instrument across the page where she can easily pick it up again as she will
have to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">His
eyes widen just a little when he sees she’s used a mechanical pencil. He’s
known her to be a stationery fanatic. But in this time and age, when everyone
just grabs the nearest pen and doesn't think twice about it after using it,
this woman seems to treat her pens and pencils like they were souls who feel
the pain of misuse just like any living creature would. And a pencil? True
enough, there’s a block of eraser that seems to be well cared for. One end
looks unused while the other was worn almost symmetrically. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“Really?”
he breathes, assuming her not to hear. But she does.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“Really,
what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“You
use a pencil.” His smile widens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“So?
What is so surprising about that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">He
idly picks her pencil up and deftly spins the pencil between his fingers. The
call would start in another five minutes. She turns to look at him. Their eyes
meet as she places her hands over his, stilling the twirling pencil. Brown
gazes into blue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“You
really want to know?” her voice holds a tinge of mischief. He comes a little
closer. She does not move back. The air conditioning in the room is the only
other audible entity. Their lips are merely inches away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“Try
me, love.” His voice is deeper than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Her hand
on his chest is soft but firm. In an instant, she pushes him away and grabs the
pencil from his grasp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“I
don’t like mistakes. With this,” she looks down at her writing instrument and
then looks back at him, her smile widening, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">“I
can always right the wrongs…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">There
is silence as their gaze is unbroken. And then the phone rings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">It’s
business as usual, once more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-53255157237455344292014-07-31T20:31:00.001+05:302014-07-31T20:31:35.955+05:30Jealousy...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">I
realize that I’m not exactly the most qualified person to be writing this… but
I feel the urge to anyway. So, if I am not seeing things from your perspective,
dear reader, I humbly urge you to forgive me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Jealousy…
that scaly green eyed drake that is said to awaken when we feel we’re not being
appreciated for what we’re worth when someone else gets what is our due. The
colour of green that adorns our thoughts at times. I’ve been a victim of his
(her) charms quite often.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">But
this post is not simply about the sharp pangs of jealousy we feel when our
colleagues or siblings get praised in out stead… this post is about the clawing
of the beast within us when someone we love is attentive to someone else who is
not us. The jealous lover who eyes his or her paramour lavishing attention on
another person is someone we’ve all grown up listening or reading about… or
being.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">I’m
sure there are cases where the jealousy is fully warranted and is but the most
obvious reaction that is to be expected. But there are those cases where
someone is so insecure that they cannot bear to see their special someone in
the company of anyone other than themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">I’ve
had friends who’ve embodied this type of jealousy. Women who have the best of
men for a companion and yet, they’ve been nothing but miserable about how they
fear the whole world is out to get their man. Yes, that may very well be the
case, but what of the trust that they are supposed to have on their man? The
one they chose over droves of other men… the one to whom they gave their
hearts? The one who in turn chose them and the one who has the special smile
and twinkle in their eyes reserved exclusively for them?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Please,
don’t get me wrong, dear reader. Having been mostly single, I've always mused
on this concept of amorous jealousy. And as much as I know it is bad, I wonder
if I will feel its sting myself if and when I fall in love with someone. It’s a
concept I am not entirely comfortable with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">I
hope, when I do find someone, that the person I fall for be the sort of person
who can be loved and loves everyone in return. Yes, I did say love. I shall
pray for the strength and the trust to know that he will love everybody as we
all should but in his heart, there shall be place for only a few… and that I
shall find a place there. This jealousy that I speak of is not merely limited
to those who’re most likely to replace us. It is also at times, directed at
anyone who is close to the one we love. It could be a sister, a mother, a
friend, anyone…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">I
shall pray that my man have a large enough family to cherish… a loving family
that shall love him dearly and one with whom he shall have a strong bond. They
cared for him well before I was in the picture. They have loved him unconditionally
and in a way that I hope to emulate – maybe only to fail… but still, they’re an
integral part of his person. And that means he is the person I choose to love because
they made him that way. I should be grateful then, shouldn’t I? True that sometimes,
people tend to take their significant other too lightly… I’ve personally been
there… having been relegated to being a figure in the background as the man
chose to lavish his family with attention. As much as I did not begrudge him
for what should have been my share, in my case, he treated me with indifference
that bordered on abuse. He refused to protect me when I've known men who’re not
even romantically attracted to me did. But that doesn’t mean all men would be
that way. And as much as it sounds silly, I wish to be part of his family… to
see his loved ones as mine and to assure them that there is enough love to pass
around without anyone getting the short end of the stick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Am I
being an idealist here? I don’t know. But this has been the way I've always
seen the world and the people in it. As much as I am cynical about finding
someone to love, I am sure that when I do find someone, I shall cherish that
person and make it known that I trust them enough to share them with the world.
Because I know, there’ll always be a special something that shall never be
shared and being accorded that honour is in itself the greatest feeling!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">But
I know I shall feel the beast awakening within me at times… I am but human! But
when that time comes, I pray for the good sense to look beyond the apparent
into the actual. If my man is good at heart, I shall trust him until he proves
otherwise. But whatever it is, the person dictating the way I react will be
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">And
thus, I come to my final prayer – let me find someone worthy of my trust and
love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-72473970861057698202014-07-29T16:18:00.000+05:302014-07-29T16:18:05.351+05:30Remanence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">The
pristine white… nothing mars its surface. And I am loath to put pen to it,
spoiling the perfection that is so becoming of it. But it cannot be helped. I've been deliberating on this exercise for so long, I feel any further delay will
not be for the best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">But
when you look at it, isn't it in these most tangible things that our lives’
memories are stored? An unwritten page… the drying ink well… the coffee growing
cold… the splatter of the rain against the window pane. All those inexplicably
tangible things… they all remind us of certain events in life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Some
of these events we cherish and bemoan the fact that they’re long gone, already
a memory. And some, we wish would remain in the past and not ravage our minds
with the pain we have associated with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;">This
memory… of a lazy afternoon with the rain pouring from the heavens above… with
just myself for company as my favorite song keeps playing in a loop – I’ve long
since associated this with utter bliss. A time when things were so
uncomplicated and simple. I claim simplicity is an illusion that one would do
well not to cling onto. But I know I’m the hypocrite here. How I long for the
simple past where I had stories to hide myself in… stories that I had made up
in my mind, with characters from a well-loved book or from a television series
that I just couldn't get my mind out of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: American Typewriter, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">But
it is the very fact that we can never go back to those simple times that makes
them all the more precious. And all we have are remanences of those times left
behind in the many tangible objects, the connection strangely and ironically
intangible!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">Maybe
if given enough time, we can transfer our entire life’s essence into enough
tangible receptacles to live on… even if only to the select few who can make
the connection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">A
moment immortalized until there be someone to remember. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-31750950654532424072014-07-27T09:59:00.001+05:302014-07-27T09:59:26.072+05:30Messages...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">She
is one of a kind. She wakes up in the morning, her dark brown tresses far from
perfect. Her eyes are all groggy from sleep and on some days, the vestiges of
her makeup from last night still cling on to her skin. She smiles sleepily into
the mirror as she remembers last night’s conversation. She has seen too many
men court her… become her friend, praise her wit and then get intimidated by
the same thing that they praised. She intimidates them… and that has always
left her with only herself for companionship. The men… they can’t seem to know
what to do with a woman with brains and soon, the cold feet follow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";"><br></span></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">But
this time, she swears it’s different, as she did for all of them in the past.
The Kanji on the wall next to the mirror is a stark black against the white
paper. “</span><span lang="JA" style="font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-ascii-font-family: "American Typewriter"; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS Mincho"; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family: "American Typewriter";">希望の正夢へ頑張ろう</span><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter","serif";">”. Her smile widens. Yes, she
has toiled towards making her dreams come true. Her hand travels across the
mattress, under her blanket and pillow until it grabs her phone. She smiles
again thinking of how she dozed off in the middle of the conversation. He’s
sent her some funny picture… a meme… a funny retort. Her silent giggles
penetrate the morning air as she sends another in reply. And then, she waits.
She waits for the telltale chime that a reply has come. The times are good for
her. She can’t wait to go to work… to meet him.</span></div>
</div><a href="http://toasters-rant.blogspot.com/2014/07/messages.html#more">Read on...</a>Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-9055159247836564392014-07-20T16:48:00.000+05:302014-07-20T16:48:10.900+05:30Grumblings of a person denied a bath!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has officially been 2 days since there has been a “cable
fault” near our house that has rendered our motor practically useless! That
means it has officially been 2 days since I’ve taken a bath! And that too on a
weekend! Yes, it bugs me a lot that I can’t seem to be able to wash my hair in
what feels like a million years. But what this episode has helped me do is that
it showed me just how much of an asshole the average human being can be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My father is currently in a hospital undergoing blood
transfusions, thanks to his Dasatinib medication giving him the roundhouse kick
while killing away his cancer cells. And I’ve had a partially torn ligament
(whatever that is!) that’s virtually left me bed ridden. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Add to that, douchebags for tenants and a really irritated
father who’s just dying to take out his anger on random people for random
reasons, I can assure you, it has not been a good weekend so far.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ugh… it sucks to be hurt and dependent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in India, the people who work at the electricity board
talk to you like they’re doing you some sort of favour repairing lines…. Like they’re
doing it for free. I know as an Indian I ought to be numb to these imbeciles
and their antics by now. But there are times when I wish for nothing better
than to go and smash their skulls in and ask them how they like it now! Anger
management issues, much? Hah!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all, it’s been a lovely weekend! I hope yours is going
well!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-67545198183901840952014-07-19T19:19:00.002+05:302014-10-18T09:36:40.814+05:30Workplace rants - on make up and people!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The decisive chime of the elevator indicated that I was in the 6th floor. This is where my office is. I step out of the elevator car and gingerly take a step outside the elevator car. I have a walking stick to do the job that my right leg ought to be doing. And the people are staring. Their eyes go from the walking stick to my backpack with its many badges and stuffed animals attached to it. I can sense the range of emotions that emerge from behind their eyes... sympathy, curiosity, disdain... I hoist my bag a little higher up my shoulder as I punch in my employee number. This will make sure I get paid today. Once that is done, I trudge down the corridor, swiping my access card in front of doors, making sure they open up without a problem. It gives me a sense of satisfaction knowing that I am allowed here... that I belong.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then, I see them. My team waits for me. There are faces that show genuine worry in seeing me walking with the stick in hand. I smile at them. Wouldn't want them worrying now! Mani... my little brother - merely a child... he smiles as he pushes chairs out of my way, while cracking a joke at my limping in the most light-hearted way. Hari.... my soul sibling grins as we share the 'yep-I've-survived-a-torn-ligament-bitch-bring-it-on!' smile. But then, there are those who don't share the same amount of sincerity. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of them approaches me and the first question thrown my way is, </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Sensei, you're not wearing make-up. It makes your face look weird. You don't look good."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I smile back, "I'm sorry. I didn't know your approval on how I looked was needed to progress through the day today, sir."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I see that the remark has done its job. The person's smile falters a bit and they then hastily add about what they really meant. They say I look sleep deprived. Yes, try sleeping with one leg burning like it's been dipped in flaming petrol, why don't you? They say I have dark circles. Yes... So? And when they run out of excuses, they scuttle back to their seats, pretending to go back to working. But I know they're still smarting and seriously, I couldn't give a shit!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And it gets me thinking. The other day, after days of shuttling between the hospital, for my really ill father and work, for my daily bread, I was left with absolutely no energy to <i>put my face on</i>. And that was when people started telling me how I ought to doll up a little. Now, as much as I don't have anything against people giving others advice, I always tend to see if the timing is appropriate. But I let that slide. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When my father did get better and I was able to better afford time to actually put mascara to lash, the same people came about and jibed about how different I looked and how there were now layers of face paint. The same people who seemed to think of it as a cardinal sin to come to office without make up now ridiculed me for putting stuff on my face. I let that one slide too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now this... This was strike no. 3 and they were out... they had better start walking back to the bench!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know we live in a society where women are forced to either doll up or apologize for dolling up. I am in no way against make up or for it. I am against people telling me what I should be doing with my face. I will decide when I'll put my make up on. I'll decide whether I wear pretty earrings for the day. I'll be the sole reason why I dress up. I don't dress up to impress my colleagues. I don't smell like some of them do. I don't wear shoddy clothing. My hair is not all over the place... so, why can I not decide when I need to put that lipstick on. And when I decide to put it on, why do I need to feel sorry about it?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's just no pleasing some people... and then again, I don't need to. That's the good thing of being me!</div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-60373387392446015852014-07-19T09:36:00.001+05:302014-07-19T14:59:51.111+05:30Nasty ads up my turf!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Is it just me or is anyone else getting these weird ads on your blog's home page?<br />
<br />
I don't know what happened, but I get these ads only on the first page. I also observed that I had this weird plugin called Adanak that seemed to pop up every time I did a Google search. I managed to find the adware in question and uninstalled it. But despite that, (the plugin in the search pages have long since vanished) I keep getting these ads popping up in my blog's home page. Mind you, it's only in the home page that I get to see these ads and only in the Chrome browser. I want to know if it's just my computer or if everyone is seeing these ads.<br />
<br />
For anyone who's browsing through my site, if you find these ads popping up, could you let me know in the comments? That would be really helpful!<br />
<br />
EDIT: The ads have seemingly vanished, but I would want to make it doubly certain. So, if there is anything weird with the blog at all, do let me know!</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-56396667655116986712014-07-16T10:03:00.000+05:302014-07-16T10:03:58.759+05:30Cold coffee...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
The curtains dance in the wind. The steady buzz of the
computer’s fan is the only sound in the room. It isn’t too hot. I don’t switch
on the AC…no, I don’t need it today. There is a slight hint of a shower in the
horizon. Yes, let it rain… about time it did! My hands scroll the roller of the
mouse downwards as I see the Facebook page ride upwards.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Updates… of people from an age long gone by. Smiles,
happiness, joy… all of the emotions that suddenly seem absent from my life. I
know I sound like I whine… I know there are plenty of reasons for me to be
truly happy. I know there are those who’re not even half as lucky and blessed
as I am. And yet, the sigh that escapes my lips belies the fact that I am
unhappy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stupid bitch! I scream in my head. Why do you give a shit
what other people are up to? They sure as hell don’t! My eyes travel to my
right leg. It’s heavily bandaged to hide the swelling that just does not go
away. An injured ligament is what they call it. Hell’s calling card is what I
call it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A random acquaintance has gotten married, the stupid social
networking site screams. She stands with her handsome as hell husband and
exudes positive radiance… like a gazillion nukes going off simultaneously. I
snort. I look at the vacant ring finger of my left hand. And I remember… how he
held it as though prolonged contact could give him some horrible disease. I
smirk as I think of the line he drew on our bed, commanding me not to cross
over. A bit rich coming from a guy who looked like a walrus in a suit. Another
sigh follows… marriage… a farce in my case! I click on the link that opens her
album. She exhibits her wedding for the whole world to see. And rightly so!
They look so happy… so in love. My thoughts again turn back to the day I saw
him for the first time in person. An engagement that lasted a year did nothing
to break the ice. All we spoke about was the stupid internship I’d take if I
ever was to join his side as his wife… a job interview. That was what it was…it
was always about the job I’d get. Never about the life we’d build together. I
snort back a laughter as I think of the person I was back then. How could I
have settled for so little? But then again, I look around me. There is nobody
here. Little was all I had back then… compared to the nothing I have right now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sigh again… I seem to slowly be replacing my breathing
with sighs. I truly wish her happiness as I close the album. I can’t afford to
have them see me crumble. They say it’s much better out than in. They say I’m
sure to get a good guy to look after me. Like I need to be looked after. They
worry I’ll be all alone when they leave. Little do they know that I’ve always
been alone. I’ve always felt this way even in a room full of people. And
sometimes, being alone both inside and outside is worlds better than having to
radiate a warmth I don’t possess surrounded by people who couldn’t give a shit.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I log off. My coffee has gotten cold… just the way I like
it. I take a sip, savouring the sugary goodness that would be lost in the heat.
Life is bittersweet. And somehow, it makes life all the more beautiful and precious.
I don’t give a rat’s ass if I will ever find a soulmate… no… I’ve already found
the perfect partner. My eyes dart her way as we walk towards each other. Our hands
reach out to each other as I take in her messy hair and her lined eyes. Her eyes
crinkle into a smile as our fingertips touch each other. The cold glass pane is
all that divides us. Myself from myself. We take another sip and close our
eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re finally where we want to be, precious! <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-74298749893541403492014-07-15T13:18:00.001+05:302014-07-15T13:18:41.538+05:30On the realization that I am a Feminist!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not going to beat around the bush with this one. I am a
feminist. A Fem-Nazi as some term it… and I’ve never been prouder of the fact.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a time in my past when I always wanted to walk the
“mid-path”. You know… not be thought of as being too radical… not being too
passive at the same time. The moderate path, where I chose to be and expected
the world to do the same. But that, my dear reader, was a fool’s hope. You see,
it took some beatings to realize that the world is not going to cut you some
slack just because you view the world in a very moderate light. Sure, there are
good people and bad people everywhere. But it wasn’t until I chose to break the
bondages of an emotionally and verbally abusive marriage that I began to
realize, the world views us women in a very harsh light.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me explain more in detail here…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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In my country, no matter how much we claim to be advanced,
there is always this undercurrent that connects our actions to our dark past.
And we shrug when encountering it, calling it part of our culture. A culture
where women were expected to just bear the brunt of being with abusive people –
whether parents or others. They hailed
women to be the givers of life but they never asked if she wanted to. They
called her a paragon of virtue while they denied her every right to pleasure.
She was to be the mother, friend, lover and advisor of her man but when the
final decision was made, she had to acquiesce with nary a murmur. That was the
sign of a good woman, they said… One who could be called upon when needed and
one who shut up when not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Women were, and still are treated to be some sort of an
abstract idea that is applied to people possessing the right gonads. You’re
born a women in my country? Well… you can be all forward thinking and what not
but there will always be limitations…. Always!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before people come up in arms against me, claiming I’m being
too harsh and that this is not the moderate’s way of thinking, let me explain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've realized that being a moderate is not helping anyone!
Not the women who’re being taken for granted… not the men who claim to be
victims of “feminism”. Nobody. You’re either with the downtrodden, in their
pits, fighting their fight… or you’re against them… oppressing them further
with either your indifference or your actions – both equally dangerous.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have chosen a side. I've chosen the side of the feminist.
And this does not mean that I am going to burn my bras or clank my sauce pans
in public… please! What is that going to achieve? But let this be marked well…
for any injustice that is done against any of my sisters or brothers anywhere
in the world, I shall take it as injustice against me. And yes. I did say
brothers. That includes the men, for those who’re too shocked to comprehend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
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Feminism isn’t about putting men down… it’s about raising
women up. It’s not about the supremacy of one gender over the other – it’s
about all people being equal. It’s about people being treated as people rather
than as some template upon which society has placed values and virtues to suit
its taste. It’s about treating everyone as a living, feeling, emoting being and
giving the due respect. And if that makes me a Fem-Nazi, bring it on!!!<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-71050158087429674992014-07-12T16:42:00.001+05:302014-07-12T16:42:45.218+05:30Work and how it's progressing.... mundane updates from the new place<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
For the first time in my life, I've actually managed to get a colleague hate me! And yes, I seriously am so proud of myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Before you begin to wonder about my sanity, let me make it clear. I am well loved by everyone else and it is just one individual who has decided to heap the hatred on me for the singular fact that I testified truthfully against her in office.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Having either been a wallflower all my life, I've never been in the thick of things, you might say. I've always been the one who got the news last. Always the minnow at gossip tables. Always the one who was part of the decor. So, it is really interesting that suddenly, I am noticed... like a teenager being hit on by the big boys for the very first time... it's all so exhilarating yet scary.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Work has been leaving me with absolutely no energy left to do just about anything outside it. People are kind for the most part and everyone is helpful and friendly... except that one person...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She has, what one would call, a hypocritical heart. She balks against orders while she has absolutely no qualms handing out orders to people at the drop of a hat. She speaks against discrimination while she treats those below her with such contempt and superiority. One wonders just how she has the audacity to go on being who she is and still expect the world to bend to her every whim. She shouts at people just because they don't treat her like a heavenly maiden whose descent into our mortal plane must, according to her, have us singing her praises every day.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, I don't exactly wake up to please her, anyway.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For the rest of the people, they're all nice. Coming from a place where people have always had a smile on their faces while they've sunk their blades into my back, having well meaning bosses who unsmilingly see the goodness in me and treat me well, is a nice change.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have my own cubicle and I'm given control of a single batch of Japanese studies. I have everything that I've missed in my old office with none of the bad things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Recently, I fell down and tore a ligament in my right leg. I could have taken the day off the next day. But somehow, I felt like going. My workplace has become a sort of home for me. I miss the work... I miss my friends... and most of all, I miss the sense of inclusion I feel there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Am I turning into a workaholic? *Le gasp* I sure hope not! And even if I am, it's good to be busy!</div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-59294958827634360392014-07-05T08:09:00.002+05:302014-07-05T08:09:38.752+05:30The fonts just don't seem nice!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'd observed a few days ago that the custom fonts that I had used for my blog have suddenly stopped working. I was irked more than I care to admit. So, for the time being, I've changed the fonts to what I believe are the closest to what I would have chosen if I had all the fonts in the world to choose from.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm in the process of finding a good font and the technical know-how of how to put it there. The method I tried last time isn't working. Maybe I'm doing something wrong... maybe the method just doesn't work anymore. The more I undergo these ridiculous issues with my blog, the more I'm tempted to start writing in my own domain. But that requires a little bit of time and money. Even if I do have the latter by God's grace, I am poor on time right now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, dear readers whose eye is twitching the same way mine does when a font is just not right, bear with me.</div>
<div>
I'll soon find a solution. I can't stand it just as much as you!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, off I go! </div>
</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-47354471312331336932014-06-22T14:41:00.001+05:302014-06-22T14:41:51.345+05:30A little reminder<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For anybody out there who has been worried about my absence from this blog, I'd like to reassure them with the news that I am well, if a little too busy. I've gotten myself a better job and a new laptop from which I am writing this entry.<br />
<br />
And life has generally been good to me mostly.... actually, there have been some really rough patches here and there... and when I mean really rough, I mean insanely rough. People have asked me in open wonder how I've managed to get through those patches. And I do not brag, dear reader. I don't know how I got through. There was God helping me along the way, I guess. He's always there... always by my side, protecting and guiding me to where I need to be.<br />
<br />
This post is just a place holder. A little reminder to everyone who'll chance upon it to smile and believe that no matter how hard life seems right now, it will get better. The whole universe is working hard to get you what you want. Whatever it be! So, don't give up. And remember... there's always hope!</div>
Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7418226955233942073.post-15225606947778864122014-04-27T20:07:00.000+05:302014-04-27T20:35:11.160+05:30Karna's Wife - The Outcast's Queen: A Book Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There are stories that we are told right from when we were wee little babies in our crib. Stories that have been passed down from one generation to the next - sometimes as a story that is told or sometimes as a book that is written. If there is one thing that is common about all these tales, it is the fact that they change as we age. What was a mere fable of how Good triumphed over Evil from our childhood suddenly turns into the perfect character study of the complex nature of the Human psyche. And if we were to line up all the stories of the world that boast of possessing such richness of depth, I am in no doubt that India's <i>Mahabharatha</i> will be among the top three.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember listening with wide eyes and a gaping mouth as my grandmother extolled tales of the Pandava princes and their quest for justice and cheered whenever they won over the evil Kaurava princes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And now, a good two decades later, as I re-read the tales, I am able to read between the lines a little more and it amazes me how perfectly this particular epic manages to capture human emotions in all its complexities. The black and white world of my childhood has greyed out into a myriad shades as I see the goodness in the Kauravas and the sliver of evil in the Pandavas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, it would be the most obvious guess that I was delighted when I saw Kavita Kan</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">é's newest book, </span><b style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Karna's wife - The Outcast's Queen</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">, calling out to me from the shelf of my neighbourhood </span></span><span style="line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">book store</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">.</span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I8TB0cpi_C0/U10U3BL8JyI/AAAAAAAAH8o/zQhrMgNwoA8/s1600/1396112652711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I8TB0cpi_C0/U10U3BL8JyI/AAAAAAAAH8o/zQhrMgNwoA8/s1600/1396112652711.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The Book"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The book is from the point of view of Karna's wife - a fictitious character who goes by the name, Uruvi. Uruvi, the kshathriya princess of Pukeya, defies societal norms by choosing the charioteer's son, Karna over the illustrious Arjuna for her husband. And from then on, the book goes on to tell the age old tale through her eyes.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Truth be told, I could not put the book down for the first fifty or so pages - the swayamvara - a ceremony where a suitor is chosen for the princess or one where the princess chooses herself a husband, was so well written that it felt like I was actually standing there, right beside Krishna (the only other person who knows the future), and watching the scene unfold.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But towards the middle, the story sagged a bit. The writer, suddenly, moved from telling the tale from Uruvi's point of view to just giving what seemed like a third person's point of view of the story, just that it was being quoted by some character to the protagonist. I find this a classic example of loss of focus. As an amateur writer myself, I know how it feels - being in the middle of the story, suddenly losing the drive to write, you feel lik you're being dragged down by the scene you're in. You see the end but it keeps moving farther away even as you inch towards it. But the mark of a true writer is not wavering from the mission set and finishing the story as one coherent piece. The prowess to do that sets apart the stalwarts of the trade from us, the mere mortals.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That said, I should say Uruvi is a character with a lot of potential. But towards the middle, she loses that something that makes her relateable. I found myself more attached to Karna - his character being truer to character than his wife. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The dialogues were, truthfully, very painful to read. Half the time, I skimmed through them without missing much of the story. And that, again is not a good sign. I wish she had been a wee bit more intangibly descriptive - like Stephen King or Herman Hess. But I fear I have very high expectations out of my writers, don't I?!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Characters were slowly becoming two dimensional and the only one who stood above them all as a believable character was Karna. But since the book is not from his point of view, I had to wait with bated breath for him to make an appearance. Kane has managed to make Karna the vulnerable tragic hero that I loved. Towards the end, even Duryodhana, the 'vile' Kaurava prince was portrayed to have a sense of humanity. It brought a sense of familiar perfection that I had long since associated Mahabharatha with.</span><br />
Everything said, I did feel a bit of a twang in my heart when the final page was read. And that must mean the author got something right!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the author's first work. So, I am sure she will only get better with the next one - a take on another amazing epic from India - the Ramayana; only this time, the story is from the point of view of Urmila, the forgotten sister of Sita and the dutiful wife of Lakshmana. I am looking forward to reading that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> All in all, I give this book 3❤'s out of 5.</div>Kikyohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17191691492214068372noreply@blogger.com0