Sweetheart,

You're eight months old and a bundle of joy to say the least !

When you were born, you were tiny and unwell and slept little...Often, you wouldn't drink any milk and cry for hours together...Your Mum and Dad spent sleepless nights distraught over you...There were times when your Mum, driven to irrationality by her maternal instincts, wondered if somebody cast a spell on you ! There was a constant flurry of friends and relatives, distant and close, to see Micky's son...And trust me, it was the last thing Micky wanted ! Your Mum was furious...On my part, I think, maybe you just wished to stay back in Mum's tummy, but baby, had you not been born, your Mum and Dad would have been bereft of their most precious asset... :)

Anyways, just like the fighter your Mum is, you survived your ailments and weakness and in a couple of months, Omi was set to conquer the world...I remember how you would stare at everything around you, often twisting your 3 month old head to have a better look ! You would acknowledge sounds and voices and wouldn't hesitate to giggle out loud when Mum and Dad were having a fight ! When Mama handed you over to someone new, you wouldn't cry like the other babies...You'd just take your time and grimace in the meanwhile...When you grew a bit older, Mum bathed you in your small pink tub...I'd seen babies being terrified of baths but it was typical of you to yawn through the whole five minutes and wait for Mum to towel you dry, feed you your formula and put you back on your cot...You inherited your Mum's frown and your Dad's laugh and looked absolutely adorable while doing either ! Cameras were fascinating for you...It took you a few minutes to recognise the silver box in people's hands but once you did so, your lips would curl and there was no uncurling them until the camera had been put aside ! When Mum bought you your pram, you were visibly terrified, but the young adult you are, you patiently waited in it, without uttering a sound, for Mum to take you back...Maybe, you realised what a waste of time and energy crying was ! The only times you'd let out a wail was when you were hungry...It was natural sweetheart, your appetite turned out to be inherited... :)

You had your "Annaprasana" recently...Now you can have your fill of all the adult food you yearned for...Well, not now, but you're on your way...Your Mum, one crazy Mum that she is, can even see your front teeth peeping down your gums ! Your laughter has risen to higher decibels than ever...It is a constant amusement for me to call your Mum up and listen to your peals of laughter...Not a miser in this matter, you are... :)

Now your Maasi's in Bangalore and she cant wait to finish her summer internship and spend a month with you...It shall be the longest time, I'd get to spend with you darling and there's nothing in this world I'd trade that for !

See you soon...

Luv,

Kunum...

One of my earliest and fondest memories is Ma reading Russian Folktales to Di and me...In her own novel way, she could bring alive the stricken "Alyonushka" and her brother "Ivanushka", the rib ticking "Emelya" and his pike or the nightmarish "Baba Yaga" in her three legged hut...Ma would also sing us nursery rhymes, showing us the illustrated pages, my favourite being the fortune telling "Monday's Child"...I remember writing my first short story inspired by Thumbellina...During many August nights when Bhubaneswar bore the brunt of the monsoons, the wind would howl outside my window and Ma would read us excerpts from Anne Frank's "Diary of a Young Girl" by the candle light...Though I was too young to understand, I remember, when the lights came up, Ma would brush away the tears streaming down Di's face...When I read it today, I realise what made Di cry all those nights...During the sweltering summers, we would sit on the portico with Ma on her rocking chair and hear amusing anecdotes from Charles Chaplin's biography...When Ma had her accident and was bedridden for months, I'd sit by her after school everyday...I was still in Preparatory and seeing her leg in a cast with traction made me cry helplessly...It was then that she gave me my first Enid Blyton and asked me to read to her...What started with atrocious pronunciation (I'd pronounce Puzzles as Pooz-less) and retarded sentences, grew into a hobby I'd carry with me for the rest of my life...

All through my school years, I'd swallow book after book ! From Chandamama to Champak, from Tinkle to Tin-Tin ! Chacha Chaudhary and Sabu were heroes among us school friends, ("Chacha Chaudhary's mind works faster than a computer !") though thankfully, Ma made sure I read less of it owing to the million grammatical mistakes in each copy ! Ma had a wonderful collection of original Indrajaal comics from her era of the sixties and seventies and all I needed was a bowl of Maggi, a cup of chilled Bournvita and Mandrake, Phantom, Flash Gordon or Kerry Drake in my hands !

The Archie addiction was passed down from Di, my cousins and my retro-hip Mamu...In a jiffy, I was picking up the latest American words and had my very first crush on Jughead...Archies gave me my first sketching lesson too...I'd relentlessly try to sketch the svelte Ronnie and Betty and with time, I could pencil decent curves and posh outfits...

In my early teens, I couldn't wait to finish my homework and grab the Malory Towers or Nancy Drew off the shelves ! I also remember "Angie's Choice", a teenage romantic paperback, which was special because the reader had options after every chapter...The reader could decide Angie's fate and as it had four different endings, it felt like reading four different books ! As I neared my sixteenth birthday, I remember whisking away my first Mills and Boon from Ma's collection and gleefully reading it on my bed at night...The excitement did wear off soon especially as every M&B had the same storyline, the virgin damsel in distress and the macho saviour to the rescue ! Those were also the days of David Wallechinsky, Irving Wallace and Amy Wallace's "Book of Lists"...Though few people know about this series, it has been one of the most interesting compilations I've ever come across till date !

It was sometime in the autumn of '99 that I read my very first Sidney Sheldon..."Doomsday Conspiracy" took me to the world I'd never dreamt off...Within a year, I had exhausted all that Sheldon had written, as Ma had his entire collection...From the Swiss Alps and lush Greece to the diamond studded Africa...Sidney Sheldon took me through exotic places and thrilling chases and taught me exquisite words as well as profanities in several languages ! Though Sheldon gave way to Arthur Hailey, John Grisham and Mario Puzo, he remained my favourite till the end...Realising that I was a mystery buff, Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple soon became my bosom buddies...

When my friend Mayank gifted me a book called "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom, he gave me six hours of tearful reading and my favourite book ever...Perhaps, "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini could so easily move me to tears as "Tuesdays With Morrie"...

Over the years, several non fictional books have intrigued me, the most being "90 Minutes At Entebbe"...Being a pro-Israeli, I was enthralled by William Stevenson's account of the Israelis in the Air France highjack by PLO terrorists in 1976..."The Wings of Fire" was yet another book that motivated me owing to my immense fascination with A.P.J Abdul Kalam...

In having read countless books and continuing to do so, I consider my books as my adventure enthusiasts, my sturdy friends, and my loving companions...

In the words of Charles Eliot,

"Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counselors, and the most patient of teachers..."

It is in Bangalore that my life probably means to change...I'm clueless however, for better or for worse?

I'm growing...Comprehending my situation with different perspectives...Learning new tricks of the trade...Meeting people of either side of the pole...Wondering one moment how lame, people are and in the very next moment, smiling at my own ignorance...Missing home desperately and realizing how "small town" I am and loving myself a little more in light of this revelation...

It rains every evening in Bangalore...I often step out for a cup of tea from the roadside vendor and cannot resist a walk in the drizzle...I watch the chaos around me...As my tea splatters over the cup, I see people brimming over the roads...Cars and bikes and people...I feel like a speck amidst thousand others like me...

I feel the feebleness of a mortal when I cross the elderly lady hunching over her walking stick for support...My troubles seem trivial when I watch the middle aged man dragging along in his age old Vespa...I feel the pangs of loneliness when a besotted couple walk past me, oblivious to the ruckus...My curiosity is aroused just like the toddler tightly clutching his mother's saree as he lays a terrified glance at the leper begging on the sidewalk...

Bangalore will show me the dream many see...From Forum at Koramangala, to Wonderla...From the Sports Bar at the 100 Feet Road to the splendid Nandi Hills...I see all that lures...

But when I feel nonchalant, when I'm amazed but not overwhelmed, when I learn and I can also unlearn, I realize that I've grown...

311 !

"Amber Is The Colour Of Your Energy" is the song I listen to umpteen times these days...Uninspiring though, as it hasn't made the slightest dent in my tediously lethargic schedule ! As I wait for my call from Britannia (My Summer Internship), I spend one lousy day after another on my sack, in my comfy two seater at MANAGE...

MANAGE is more of a ghost town these days, infact, scarier...The Academic Block is deserted, the "employees" literally snoozing in their comfy A/C rooms, stepping their toes out only as the 5 o'clock dusk settles in...The steps of the famed Tea Lounge are enough to saute one's bum after a day in an oven called the "Hyderabad Sun"...Its too secluded to visit anyway, with no more stryofoams strewn across and no more chocolate biscuits...(Sob !)The mess is in a complete mess, to say the least...The 15 of us scourge for anything edible and "Zombieland" doesn't seem that fantastic anymore...(Awright, that went a bit overboard)...To simply put it, Baker's Point never had such business before...Walker's Path seems to have lost its ghosts too...The canopy runs thin and the mysterious twists and turns end up getting me a sore knee ! The Hostels are isolated, unsavoury locks frowning upon us ! Abhijeet and Sumit are my last resort and God bless their souls...They invite me for "Khichdi & Achaar" dinner every night and I dont even have to do the dishes...(Wink !)

My situation has turned drastic enough for me to join Face Book today ! An addiction I'd averted all year long, even through the Farm Ville mania that plagued MANAGEites in 2009-10...I'm treading carefully though...The best thing that happened was finding Di's Nursery Snap on FB...(Sigh !)

Well, this blog has perhaps been my most productive piece of work since a week...Anyway, I'm tired already ! Time to get back to my song of the month...Bye !

P.S: "Woohoo ! Amber Is The Colour Of Your Energy !"

Walking On...

"I choose the road less travelled...

The path runs dark, canopied by trees, a babel of whispering leaves following me...It seems to be the abode of spirits, sprites, angels and demons alike...

They are undaunted, I am petrified...

I wish my path would come to an end, it surges ahead...I fear I can never catch up...

The woods grow dense, swallowing the narrowing road...The branches swipe across my face, the pebbles crush beneath my feet...I bleed...

A wild flower meets my tired gaze...I pluck the flower and smile, it smiles back...My wounds are healed...

A monarch flutters by and I fall in love...It stops awhile, I plead it to fly beside me...It flies away...My heart breaks...I look at the crumpled flower in my palm, it still smiles back...I bleed some more...

Eventually, the road forks...I choose the path that runs anew...

From lush green fields, the road deceptively runs through a scorched desert, the afternoon sun glares down mercilessly...My flower has left my side...Only deceitful mirages remain...

Weary and parched, I trudge on..."