Oh! And a few ask why i don't address any "real" and "happening" issues in my blog.

This is the only space where i voice all my untolds and unheards. Here i can see my voice emerge free and loud. And this freedom too, i love. As virtual as it may seem, it's real to me and Real enough.

The issues around will be addressed in a different blog maybe sometime later or maybe never! Moreover, now that almost everybody and anybody are involved in real and happening issues , one can almost run into a person who has "seen it all happen",every other day.My opinions would simply voice what hundreds have been addressing and I choose not to add to the redundancy.They are loud and eloquent enough.

It's mostly luxury and luck , these days, to be safe and alive..And i would rather not spend much time blogging about the fortunes and misfortunes of people around..

This space is for me alone and issues my own!

Nothing like home

That big city,i noticed,has a shattered soul..
And I'm glad i can survive out there without really being a part of it.

As stoic as i may sound,i'm afraid i'm becoming one.

And everytime a lightning flashes,it all turns magically silver - the rain,the dimly lit streets,the rims of the umbrella,the raindrops dripping from its edges and those in my cupped hand - all colored silver..like the centaur blood.

And the very next moment things revert back to the colors reflecting the dimly lit street.

A distant vehicle colors it all again - golden orange.Golden orange colored everything for an instant.Much like relationships,i would say [maybe wrongly]..a quick flash of colors and then mostly ordinariness.

I live and relive my past in my mind..somewhere i feel like longing for those million things which went lacking..their presence which perhaps would never have made me feel their lack..which perhaps would never have made me long for their presence..

To much of my posts these days,i fail to give a title....like i've failed to give a name to this space thinking it would confine its essence..like i never could give a name to those few relationships which went dead much before they could grow deep..and to those hundred emotions that lie hidden somewhere within to surface every now and then..Maybe i've fancy for all unnamed things..or i don't name things fearing it would cease to mean its meaning sometime....or going the shakespearean way maybe there's nothing much in a name and this post is just much ado about nothing.. Whatever..

Despite all the sadistic grimness in solitude and endless cravings,there are always things which can bring back a smile....like the rains and the silver colored everything when the lightning flashes..the cupped raindrops and a grand delusion that it would turn into a pearl someday..

There are always a few moments which i will savour a lifetime..
There are always a few things which gets me singing again..

I hadn't realized you were long back dead till recently..till i saw how hollow your eyes look during those nights when you can't sleep and when i lie awake.I wonder why you were given such a beautiful face..if all that had to remain was this ghastly look on it..a face dead to itself..a face with such dead eyes that strive to see life only through mine..

I was too happy once,you see,to take notice..so too happy that i laughed whole days as i played and dreamily smiled whole nights as i slept..holding tight your arm with mine..feeling the warmth of your existence besides..of your life which i had then not known to exist only in mine..

I wasn't aware of what killed you..i didn't know of the many things that were lacking-those which supposedly make one unhappier..You never had given me a clue about it..Why!You had even let me spread joy in this bloody place..in this very place where cold blood springs and flourishes-thick and dirty red..here was where when i had once merrily leaped and smiled till it had made others smile too..

Yes! I was a kid once..always wholly happy and angelic..happy,without having to bother neither about the reasons nor the consequences of happiness..happy enough that i lived without any longings..

And then there had this transition to happen..Growing up,i'm told it was..and as taught.. growing up to be mature enough to reason out what pleasures i can allow for myself and what not..whom to hold close and whom not..of the rights and the wrongs..of bonuses and vengeances;fairy godmother and her tales vanished..along went all the angels-winged,white and clean..;i saw you'd started to bleed..

Its this,i know,the reason behind all my times of solitude..behind the sickness i feel when i see that i have not a thing to share with those who incessantly tell me their stories -long and dry..I know what made me forget my song and bury my voice..I know what left me mute and what left not a single vent..

My longings seem ceaseless..and I choke whenever i try to get it out of me..a lump gets struck and i suffocate..They tell me that i'm to blame no one for my unheard stories..what i say has gone unheard,they say its been left untold..Scared i'm of the litter it would cause..the litter that's orphaned the moment it's delivered..that moment when i cease to be its owner,it'll die,i know..
A "fabulous destiny" it has got,i should say..that it has been allowed to live and to grow within..nurturing it with shreds of pain..pain i feel when it burns my insides..when it makes a ghostly appearance and a futile attempt to spurt out..But,i've left no vent remain..it's hidden safe-zipped and sealed..

I know what killed you will kill me too,Ma..sooner or later.Yet,I pose to live.Looks are deceptive,they say..but,they all like it when a smile deceives them..a smile spread across lips - protruding and red..across the skin - soft and warm and that which leaves a dimple in my cheek.. I know i'll now let my hope die..a hope which longed for somebody to provide a vent.. I'll watch it die for i see there can never be one to own my body and its scars alike...impartial unlike the fire and as reasonable unlike it..

I know i'll never tell them my story and your's.
Sailors that they all are -'..You are an island,my dear lady!' they would say before they leave..It's by choice one sets foot on an island and taking it back is a choice again-a wiser choice perhaps..They have let me remain one..I smile and wave back..

Roy says in her book that the Love Laws lay down who should be Loved.And How.And how much..This place isn't for you and me,Ma..I know i'll now learn the lesson which you failed to..i know now it's time i learned to shrug..

Chitrakaley

[..and this time they colored]

All my shishyas at Prerana probably had too much fun last saturday at the painting competition i had organised in co-ordination with the IEEE Student branch of our college..their 'good-morning akka' since then has got a li'l too loud and their smiles broader too!


They had drawn what all kids usually draw - houses with windows and no doors,fans that are visible even from the outer wall,pots with flowers,blue,pink and yellow hills shown in perfect triangles..



...the sun bordered black,cartoons,trees and innumerous birds covering the whole sky,Indian flag colored with colors of their choice,streams starting nowhere and ending right in front of the houses..fish,kites,butterflies..and all..


Madhu had drawn all this too..
His painting was not so neat..one can find it almost too shabby..
But he had a story to tell- His own.



He gestured that the boy waiting for the car in the painting was him and it would take him home - his home which has a tree, a pot and a rain water ditch..hills, a sky with a lot of birds and a sun.

Maybe he misses his parents though he has spent very li'l of his 8 years with them..

P.S -
1. Many said that this whole idea of the painting competition was a "Taare Zamin Par idea".I think i'd have come up with the same idea even if there was no TZP. Well,whatever..But, now please don't start comparing madhu with ishan awasthi :)
2. Many asked what those who couldn't color did..the singing competition was for them all.
3. Thanks to all my juniors who helped in organising things well - specially to vijith,maya,rajath,pradhan and vivek.
4. Madhu won in the 5-10yr category.There were neater paintings than madhu's,but none with a story like his..

Ziddi

He beamed as he held her hands in his and looked at them..'An artist she really is..' he thought as he delved into the details of the fine curves and the crisp maroon-red lines running across..

Her hands were not as soft nor as delicate.She knew that he was distasteful of her hands..an aversion he had for they never looked as beautiful as her face. The too many lines that cris-crossed made them look almost ugly and old..but,she'd thought they were warm.Warm enough.

She could see he was happy with her hands..Today that her hands were colored.

'Put them all the time' he said and with childish pleasure,he looked out for all the letters their names had hidden in the geometry of lines.
In a Disguise the lines would not look as bad..
He was too occupied to take notice of her.A tear welled up and rolled down her cheek and She looked away.
                                                  
                                                        ----

Back home,she scrubs her hands.Harder each time.
They are adamant. Some song sings in her mind..
Ziddi hai armaan.Ziddi hai toofaan.
Ziddi hum bhi yahaan.

The color only fades a li'l..But,she knows that when it fades completely,it will be gone forever..and not a trace will it leave of its existence..much unlike the scars - deep and dark..

And redemption is sweet,they all say......
I tried a lot to fall asleep..i realised it was not going to be possible..
It's not that it doesn't let me sleep..only sometimes it pricks somewhere deep within to accept what lies ahead..some uncertain feeling that sinks deep inside one's hollows and churns.. In some article i read,sudhir mishra calls it a "Ghost Day"..when the past intrudes into your present,pushes aside the immediate and snarls."Talk to me" it says.. and after all the talk,all you are left with is a cold,empty feeling..try as you may not to let them make a comeback,memories rush in and pour forth..memories that dries one's throat and burns one's eyes..
A sin it is called..sin of stealth-of a life or its soul..My hands look bloody..and a few dirty stubborn stains mockingly establish themselves to remain and haunt.. But,I've only let lives live. I've let me live..
What regrets should i have?What sort of redemption should i await?
I look out of the window..and as the night sky pours down all night long,i only wonder if the rains are purgative..

PreraNa

I'm a tutor at PreraNa - a home for the physically challenged and economically backward[ Yes,i go teach them Parisara,Vignaana,Samaaja and GaNita :) ]

There's Pramod-a 6 year old LKG-going-kiddo who only smiles and giggles at every gesture i make..he loves it when i draw apples and kites in his book so much that he'd not let me do anything else than that!..with the naughtiest look a kid can ever have,he can't hear anybody calling out his name nor say out his name aloud....not only his name,that is..

Savitri - a 16 year old student of history who can sing so well with an amazingly striking voice - bold and clear..very much unlike her vision..

Then there's Eshwar - a diabetic patient who can only crawl..but with a determination of passing his class-12 exams in his second attempt,so strong..

Manu and madhu - who paint well..one dumb-and-deaf and the other polio-struck..
And Suma - the girl who gestured on my first day there to ask if i'm married yet..

Vishnu-who forgets that F comes after E and all the alphabets after Q even after i've taught him some n times....and loves doodling so much that all his books are filled up almost only with lines and arcs.
Ranjita,Chetan and Chandu who are at PreraNa because their parents can't afford to have them at home..

There are some 50 children...each enjoying the challenges they face in ways their own..

                                                             *****

When i go there every morning,there usually are a few of them waiting for me at the door to inform the rest to assemble in the room and occupy their places before i enter..

There was Shivu at the door-side today.
I parked my scooty and took a few steps,still far away for him to hear me approach..and i heard him shout 'Sahanakka bandru'..[Sahana Akka's is here]

As i entered,Shivu was still there..he beamed and wished me 'Goodmorning'..
Having nothing else to ask him at that moment,i asked - 'Naan bandiddu hege gottaitu?Gaadi shabdha kelista?' [ How could you know that i came?Was it the sound of my scooter? ]

He was about to nod, but, instead shook his head..
'Illa akka....nimma gejje shabdha kelistu..' [ No,not your vehicle..i heard the sound of your anklets..]

I smiled a smile which he could not see......he, perhaps, never can..blind that his eyes are..
..then there was -'Goodmorning Akka' in a chorus..

                                                             *****

I sometimes wonder why he chose to say that he heard my anklets....




P.S: 1. Names have NOT been changed.
2. Nanna gejje pic's a modified portion from a picture originally taken by Soumya..

Euthanasia

There has always been darkness here....cacophony..harsh cryptics..obscure thoughts...eyes-strained-tired of fighting the gloom..and a heart that thumps faster everytime there's a knock at the door..anxiousness arising deep within..seeking solace..looking for a li'l rest from all the grief it has bore..a vent for all the sorrows buried within..a li'l peace..a li'l love..

                                                                                 ----

You brought a smile on my face when you came in..ushering all the colors in to fill my world...like a new-born to its mother..there was joy..a rainbow....gentle breeze..wings to fly....drops of happy showers....blossoms everywhere..a rosy path..

A sigh of relief....tears of happiness....a sense of thankfulness came along with the feel of your presence in my being....and a sense of being complete....

Laughters..dusk-falls..music..gentle caresses...so much warmth..dreams so beautiful....more music....a loving gaze spread all over my skies..a soothing lullaby..a peaceful sleep...colors and colors...dreams unfolding like sheaves of mystic clouds..a white flash.....sleep so calm and deep.........



Yet somewhere somehow like the shadow of the light,the darkness prevailed

                                                                                 ----

My place is perhaps too dark for you to have lived.I chose your leave.

I colored!! I colored!!!!

Yes! I colored with wax crayons and camlin color pencils!! I didn't draw them though..its a magic pad..one only has to rub the pages which look empty with a pencil and Ding!Mowgli,Sher khan,Baloo,Shanti,Kao all appear! Nifty,innit? :)

I get time these days to even engage myself in watching the chameleon for full 20 minutes till it changes its color from gray to green to red! And the squirrel which comes out for every 2 minutes to check if the chameleon has gone or not! Would i ever want anything than SO MUCH time for self?! And my friends complain that they are already bored of staying at home,jobless!

Ummm..'m loving it..Ta-ra-pa-paa-baa! :)

The 'pleasure' of having a pillion rider

Ma told me that i'd be dropping her to her club meet.

Aarghh! Not again!
No,i'm not lazy to go out..nor have i a problem in balancing the load of around 70 kilos..[My dearest DeeDee! YES.I really seem to have got the number [terribly] wrong..It's always better for you and me to forget a few things,you know..] =) [see bambi eyes]

As i take my brown scooty[it looks silver only on the day it has come out of the service station] out,she comes out in a clean cream colored saree[those with neat blue peacock embroidery at the borders and all that].

WHY?WHY such a neat light-colored saree when it has just stopped raining..and the roads are full of haLLas with fresh brown muddy water..and when she KNOWS that she's gonna be my pillion-rider?? Aargh.

Battery's almost dead.I always kick it start.
kick1.kick2.kick3.kick4.kick5...kick13.....kick18..there you go.The engine finally comes to life much to my ma's relief.

'Naan koorla?' she asks.And before i can answer she tries to hop in.
'oyyee..oyee..'i lose balance and somehow regain it without letting me,amma or scooty fall.

She gets down..gives me a and-you-still-say-you-can-balance-me! kinda look and -
'You take your scooty and wait for me near the turn..i'll walk till there' she says and starts walking to the turn near Geeta auntys' place.

I kick start it again and go there.Geeta aunty's outside, near the compound..and ma's bothered about my 'balancing act'..that too when her neighbour's watching us both..

She sits after having said 'iru ond nimsha' 4-5 times.

I go only far enough that Geeta aunty can't see us any longer and -
'Naanu sariyaagi kootilla..gaadi stop maadu'

After 2 more such 'sariyaag-kootilla- stops',she decides to comment on how i drive and tip me.

'Break haaku'.
'Horn maadu'. // Horn.Horn.
'No.Not more than 20.i said NO' // Ma,my 6 year old scooty cannot anyway pull the load[read 70kilos] if i go @ <20
'Mirror sariyaagi adjust maadidiya?'. // Hoon.I can always see all the bikers who follow.. :P
'Hinde car bartide' // So..?
'Slow down while crossing' // Ok.
'Break sari maadsu..' // Ok,Madame.I'd not realised that they aren't ok.
'Balance sigtidya?' // Aaaah.How else did we manage to come this far?

Thankfully she seemed to have forgotten that i don't have a license[not even an LLR] even when she saw a traffic police at the circle.

And she didn't notice till she got back home that the peacocks at the bottom of her saree had turned half-muddish-brown. // Now,had i asked her to get down some 4 times wherever there was a muddy haLLa before she could 'properly' and 'comfortably' sit?

'LORRY!! munde Lorry bartide! Slow down.Slow down.Stop maadu' // WHO on earth cannot see a lorry thats coming right in front? I don't even have those miopias and metropias..!

And finallllly,her destination comes.

A few of her friends arrive too - 'Oho!Sahana drop kottLa!'

'Hoon! Parvaagilla [she forgot to add 'even with me at the pillion'] gaadi chennagi odustaaLe' // SIGH. Tumbaa Thanks!!!!!!!

Solo


Ajar,like the mind..




















Women














Aeroplane chitte

Birthday party

A hot enne-neeru snana early in the morning.
Crisp and fresh new dress.
Pooja at the temple.

Akkas' first gift which ALWAYS,for almost 20 years,has been a hand-made bouquet with all flowers and croton leaves from the garden and a neatly tied ribbon.. :)
Re-counting if amma has put enough chocolates in the neat box for friends at school,for auto-mama and auto-mates plus extra chocolates for those who suddenly decide to wish looking at my 'color-dress'.

'Lacto-kings' or 'caramilks' for friends.
Kismi toffee bars for teachers and 'close' friends.

On entering class after the prayers at the assembly-'Happy b'day to you....
may the 'good' god bless you....dear sahana..happy b'day to you..' in chorus. ["good" god,huh????]
'Can i take Deepti with me to distribute chocolates,miss?'.
'Avlige kottyante,nangu erdu kodalva?'.

A home-made cake with not-so-neat icing with a colorful candle showing my age[then single-digit].
Cousins and neighbourhood kids shaking hands not letting go till they get atleast 3 chocolates each.
Games-the never ending sudden catch,'icepice',the then all-time-famous lemon-and-the-spoon,balloon bursting..
The much awaited 'cake cut' with a red bow-tied knief.
Colorfully wrapped gifts.['Enide idrolage?'-'Pencil-boxxu'..'Scrabble'..'Kitchen settu'..'Pilot pennu'..'Scented cartoon rubbers']

Aaah,how i miss those june 21sts..

Cacophoenix and a mute spectator.

From the window of the room back-stage ,she saw him come.She knew that he'd be there on time and he was.She continued humming one of Pt.Jasrajs' composition in malhaar as she watched him get out of his car and lock it.

It was a reharsal.

She'd put a tilak on her forehead-deep red,to match the borders of the green saree she'd worn.
As she walked from the room to the stage,the sound of her anklets echoed steadily with each step she took.

There weren't many people.

She started off with the first note-theShadaj....it was Raag-Kedar.

Her singing was natural.
Every note she took was perfect..there was a melody in her voice that the Bansuri couldn't drown..and so much rhythm that the tabla could just match.

She sang effortlessly.

Shringaram.Haasyam.Karunam.Raudram.Bheebhatsyam.Adbhutam.
Shaantam.Krodham.Shokam.Utsaaham.Bhayam.Vismayam.

Her voice had every expression.
Every time she closed her eyes to delve into a deeper note,he noticed that she'd become one with it.

Every gesture her hands made were graceful..
There was a grace in each breath she took..

Her eyes expressed every emotion.
Once or twice,in between,her eyes met his.She could see that he was attentive.

His attentiveness was what caught her attention.It was unusual that there was somebody who'd not lost himself in her music.And his gaze told her that he longed for something more soulful than her singing.She felt perplexed.She looked away forcefully.

She next sang in Bhoop.
He found her eyes playfully beautiful..
..the kajal she'd carefully put earlier only added more charm to the joyous notes of bhoop..

****************

When they met the next time,he told her about the monsoons.
About how the clouds gather suddenly from nowhere..about how dark it suddenly gets..about how the wind blows..about how the breeze makes one feel..
About the sudden out-burst of the dark clouds..the smell of the wet earth..the lightening and the sound of the thunders that accompany.

****************

Fireworks crackled merrily to life.
For his eyes,it was just a flash and then smoke.
The colors in them,he felt,were only momentary..untrue..
She failed to see what colors meant to him.
She thought otherwise.For her the colors in the firework were real and permanent.

****************

The stars had lit the night sky.
As she sat there incessantly speaking,he looked up to gaze at the stars.
Eternity was truth,he'd believed.

His gaze over the skies was too strong for her to continue.

She suddenly stopped.

She found in him a mute spectator whose own pains had remained unheard not unsung..
Amidst all the loudness of her music,his feeble voice had faded..
In the joys of her own rendition,she'd failed to hear his.
She had let her melody drown his tunes..

*****************

When she'd next sing,it'd be music for his ears,not noise.

The rains would wash away all the dust..its music would defy all the noise.
she would find joy in singing malhaar for him when he would forget himself in her music..

***************

Monsoons had arrived.
She could see what he saw in the out-burst of the clouds..in the
liveliness of the stars and the eternity in the colors they flash..

And,When she sang malhaar,she found a new meaning in each of its note.

Some random non-sense [as Soumya'd call it..]

(15 [written in red]in one box + 19 in the one right below)/2.
I felt relieved that i've 2 marks more than the required average and blissfully forgot all the things i'd 'studied' [at the rate of 1 page an hour]

I scribbled some krap for some 10 marks.It took only 5 minutes.
Manasa was besides busy writing[She slogs a lot,poor girl].
I closed the blue book,capped my pen and sat simply.
Shri from behind asked if i wanted the 'chit' he'd got.I said no.

I returned my blue-book back and walked out to sit near the stairs where there was,just a week back,a huge bee-hive.

I was waiting for manasa to come out so that we could discuss more about why our project isn't working at college.I wondered for a moment why i was not bothered about not having got a 25 as i'd 've been just till last semester.

I could see a few people from where i sat-Farah waved at me;Greeshma was busy turning back to check her answers with someone whom i cudn't see..Then there was my to-be colleague who'd bitched about my project being way too simple compared to what her team'd got.. and one junior guy gesturing madly at his friend to keep his book in a position from where he could copy properly..there was kushal who'd not looked up yet and a few others.

I sat there with the half-sheet of question paper.I tore it into 2,made folds to make a glider and a rocket. I tried the glider first.Kushal saw it glide all smooth with a perfect landing and gave me a thumbs-up.

Garfield[read RSP] & sHystem[read umesh sir] were busy invigilating.

Jackie[read jayashankra(sir)] came out the class before i could try the rocket.I'd expected him to enquire about what went wrong with my project demo.He didn't.Apparently because his colleague, Mr.half-open-eyed-beast, was around.

I remembered that i'd spent almost 2 days in making paper rockets during my first PU after i'd read a few books on paper-rockets in the library!

I felt glad that i still managed to make neat gliders
and that i'd left my cell back home
and that i needn't type in messages.

Somebody had taken 3/4th of the bee-hive for its honey..there was only a small portion that was left hanging.It looked so incomplete and pale..like it hung there only to dry up someday and fall..

And suddenly i felt so alone and happy.

P.S- Soumya,mansa,shri,farah,kushal,greeshma are friends.
Jackie,Garfield,sHystem are foes[well,almost]. :P

And then,it all turned ugly..

Like an iceberg,i feel..seemingly enjoying all the warmth of the sunrays falling over;
cold and frozen deep within..barren,lonely and looted.

This numbness-i wish i would atleast hope to see it gone..
But,I feel addicted to it.
It comforts.
Like nothing else.

I wish i could cry and give myself some solace.
Not being devoid of tears would have been a relief!
Alas!

Analog VS Digital

I see only the extremes - white and black , yes and no , silence and noise ;
I fail to see millions of the other shades which lie in between,you complained
[maybe you only said it.But,it sounded to me like you complained.I know it wasn't actually a complain.]



Why i categorize everything under the hood of truthfullness and falsity,i wonder..
i don't seek to know what lies in between..>> I may sound square-wavish..You may choose to call me a nincompoop :)

I've gotten myself used to live with zeroes and ones..
I see fullness in silence..in a yes..in a no and in a zero..in black and in white - for i know it contains all the colors and all the shades you speak of..

Maybe someday,i'll see pragmatically and start appreciating the sinosity!

A thousand splendid suns - Khaled Hosseini

To all mothers and daughters who strive in their own Kabuls..[ "like rocks in a riverbed , enduring without complaint , their grace not sullied but shaped by the turbulence that wash over them.."]

To all Nanas' and Mariam jos' who endure Jalils' and Rasheeds'..

And to all Lailas' and Azizas' who cherish Tariqs' presence in their lives..


"One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls."

                            -Translated lines from a poem of one Persian poet Saeb-e-tabrizi from where the title of the novel is taken

Solitude

Tempt me not to load my boat with debt
but give me leave to go away empty-handed
lest the price of love that you recklessly pay
should only reveal the poorness of my heart!

I can but litter your life with shreds of my pain
and keep you awake at night with the moon of my lonely dreams
It is better that i remain speechless
and help you to forget me.

While walking on my solitary way,
i met you at the dusk of night fall
I was about to ask you to take my hand
when i gazed at your face and was afraid
for i saw there the glow of fire that lay asleep
in the deep of your hearts' dark silence.
If in my frenzy i waken it up into flames
it will shed a glimmer on the brink of my emptiness

I know what sacrifice is mine
to offer to your loves' sacred fire.

I bend my head and trudge onto my barren end
provisioned with the remembrance of our meeting.

   - Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore

DON'T PANIC

The Outsider within

"Let me tell you,an exile is a creature who, in spite of being banished from her land,never ever manages to sever the ties with the place where her umbilicus lies buried.A pitiful being,who combines one part of memory and two parts of imagination to create a land so magical,so unique,that she can never truly belong to the present-to the land that now offers her refuge.

For such is the power of past.So that when some familiar scent comes her way,she feels her guts twist and strangle themselves in misery and longing;her throat fills with spider eggs of nostalgia that hatch by the minute,climb up into her eyes,and run down her cheeks leaving behind watery trails."

[Edited] Excerpts from some article in one Sunday Herald excerpted from 'The better man' -Anita Nair

Get lost

I find my world in here..it feels so good because i can change it the way i want to,anytime-I can patch it up without leaving a small gap..or strip it naked;deck it up beautifully or mess it up ugly..

Nobody objects;nobody can object,either..
And it feels great because it's mine alone and so very mine!

People who bother to notice it ask me why i never take off a few things i've put in there-like a few poems and pictures permanently struck onto it..I don't exactly know why(or rather i don't want to answer the obvious)

I wonder sometimes why they don't ask me why i change it often..so very often..

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#checking for Berkeley DB version match... no
#configure: error: Berkeley DB version mismatch
# gcc -o conftest -g -O2 -I/usr/local/include -I/usr/local/BerkeleyDB/include -I/usr/local/ssl/include -L/usr/local/lib -L/usr/local/BerkeleyDB/lib -L/usr/local/ssl/lib sampletest.c -ldb-4.2 -pthreads -lresolv -lgen -lnsl -lsocket

location to the BDB library:

# LD_LIBRARY_PATH="/usr/local/BerkeleyDB/lib" ./conftest
version: 4, 2, 52, Sleepycat Software: Berkeley DB 4.2.52: (December 3, 2003) and Sleepycat Software: Berkeley DB 4.2.52

#checking for Berkeley DB version match... no
#configure: error: Berkeley DB version mismatch
for db.h... yes
checking for Berkeley DB link (default)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb43)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb-43)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb-4.3)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb-4-3)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb42)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb-42)... no
checking for Berkeley DB link (-ldb-4.2)... yes
checking for Berkeley DB version match... Berkeley DB version mismatch
header: Sleepycat Software: Berkeley DB 3.3.11: (July 12, 2001)
library: Sleepycat Software: Berkeley DB 4.2.52: (December 3, 2003)
no
#checking for Berkeley DB version match... no
#configure: error: Berkeley DB version mismatch
#make clean
#make realclean
#make uninstall
#./configure
#make
#make depend
#make test
#make install
#checking for Berkeley DB version match... no
#configure: error: Berkeley DB version mismatch

Of Life,Love and Everything......

Permanence

15th,February

A birth that was-
Of a new life & of innocence.
It grew.
Life it gave-
To beauty & to Love.
To You & Me!

Sarkaari kelasa..(Part 1 - Post office)

"Final yearraa??Passport maadskondbidi..kelsa bere sikbittide,aamele time sigolla.."
/* Relaxx,Boss..onsitella innu doorada maatu.. */

I ,anyway, decide to get it done-all alone(not willing to drag in my dad 'n uncles 'n neighbours 'n 'bekaadavru' into it)
/* Ille maadiddu, mistakuu */

Day1 : Some friend tells me that i'm saposed to go to the post office 'n get the form.
I get there on my scooty(which is almost 5 years old),pay 10 rs more than the actual amount(it was boldly printed right in the first line that it costs Rs.10/-..aadre,adella manege bandmele kaansodu..)

I keep it safely in the drawer 'n blissfully forget that i've decided to get it done myself.


Months later....
Exams've just got over..'m highly jobless at home..no nice novels to lay my hands on..nammoralli no 'hang-out' places either..bored to the core..
what better idea to kill time than to go get my Passport done!!

Day2:I take my half filled application form to the postmaster.

He poses to be the busiest person on earth,though,all he does is collect 100-500 bucks(100 for SC/STs,500 for GM) from every person who gets a form to get it signed(checheche..lancha alla,that's saposedly the fee for applying).

He makes me wait till 12:50(that's 10 min to lunch break) and..

Postmaster:Enri aagbeku?
Me: Passportu..
PM: Sariyaag fill maadiddera??ration card tandiddira?Telephone billu,Gas Booklettu,Birth certificateuu,markscardu-ella idyaa?? white backgroundnalli 15 photo idyaa?Ella kodi illi..

/* The waiters at 'Upahaara darshini' are slower & better understandable */

I hand over to him the half filled application form..

PM: Naale-naalidd banni..ella documentsdu 2 xerox beku..1000 rs DD Passport officer hesralli,gottalva?

I get back home,put the form back into the drawer,too lazy to look for the ration card & the gas booklet & the birth certificate & the markscards & etc,etc..


Weeks later..
Classes are almost about to begin & i suddenly realize that i'd be busy with my projeKt work once the college re-opens..

(Me 'n my projeKt mate were the last ppl to start worrying about where to find a project..We were not even bothered till our placement officer called to tell us that Tata Elxsi[namma would-be annadaataru] has assigned us a project..Co-incidentally,that was a few days before our 8th sem began)

Hmmm..'n i again decide not to laze around;make my mom search every nook 'n corner for the toota-phoota ration card;find all the etc,etc documents;fill up the form without giving a damn to the instruction leaflet attached;take my 5yr old scooty 'n rush to the post-office..


Day3:There's already a girl getting her passport renewed..

/* Aa hudgige sakkhath attitudu..she noticed that i'm a first-timer..avlu obblige form fill maadlikk barodu anno tarah feelingu avlige.. */

She gets her work done in 10 mins 'n leaves. /* Hmph */

PM: Ella documentsuu tandraa madam?
Me: Hoon..(hand him over my big,faat file)
He goes thru everything 'n' times(Literally),hoping to find atleast a mistake..

He finds 'n' mistakes;gives me a bottle of whitener(one hell of an invention this corrector-ink is)'n asks me to correct them.

I correct them & give it back;he again scans thru 'n' times and finds 'n-m' mistakes.

Too embarrassed to ask for the whitener again,i go,buy a new bottle for myself(a li'l too impressed,i was,that i felt i should own one);correct all the mistakes & submit it.

Time: 12:50(10 min to lunch break)
PM: Ok..get 2 copies of all the documents & see me in the noon.

Too hungry,i get back home,have a heavy meal & lay down for my afternoon siesta.Murphys' law strikes as ever-i get up sharp at 5:30.


Day4:I start to the post-office determined that i've to get done with it at any cost & my 5yr old scooty takes me to the service station instead.(Murphy's law always goes against ur determination,u see)


Day5:
PM:Ella sari ide..ee xerox copy mele self-attestation maadi,photo antsi..

It took almost an hour for me to put my signature on 20+ etc,etc documents & attest the white background (3.5x3.5 cm) photos,with the kind of glue u find in the post offices.

Finalllly,PM goes thru it 'n-6' times;/* 'n finds No mistakes :) */
PM: All's OK.150 rupaayi kodi..

/* Me fullll thrilled..a Government official ask for extraa duddu..['d previously decided how to behave if asked for a bribe]..but,still,not wanting to spoil the fun in having an argument,i decide to be a li'l polite in the beginning..sketch prakaara i'm to get all rash 'n bold after a few minutes*/

Me:Hmmm..DD 1000 Rsge ashtey alva?
PM:Illa,innu 150 kattbeku.
Me:Receipt kodteera?
PM:Idakke Receipt sigolla..

/* I drag it a li'l longer hoping for it to get a li'l hotter..*/

Me:Andre..??
PM:Nodidralla esht kashta passport maadsodu anta..
Me:Adakke...?

He takes out a CD with the picture of some-bird-which-i-cudn't-recognize.
"Karnataka Forest Department presents Ranganathittu-an Avian Haven" written on its top.
At the back of the cover it said-

"Marketed by India Post"
M.R.P. Rs.150/-

/* Nann sketchella Fullll tusssuu.. */

PM:1 week bittu,Police address verificationge karitaare.Neevu hogbahudu.
Me:/* Too ashamed to say anything else */ Thanks.

---

/* Part 2 - Police Station
Part 3 - Taluk Office
I shall post them as soon as i get my residence proof(a.k.a. 'vaasasthala dhrudeekarana patra')
'm again hoping to meet the aslee sarkaari officials atleast here :)*/