Of ghosts and people.

The little girl was scared, terrified, petrified of all things horror. She wouldn't let anyone in the family watch any of those horror programs on the television, never mind that she actually saved them from abysmal direction, cheap animation and really, really badly made up ghosts. When she grew up, she tried to rationalize with herself, forced herself to watch a few horror movies; if cushions could speak (or had rights), they would definitely sue her for domestic violence. She forced herself to watch with peers too, for the fear of humiliation might just make her stronger; as it turned out, her peers were no help.

And so she grew up with a mortal fear of the supernatural, so much so that even an audio-visual representation of a fantasy involving supernatural beings, projected on the TV screen that definitely belonged to this world was a complete no.

She also feared the dark, but got over it quickly. "Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn on the light." She became fully functional during the wee hours of morning eventually, though that does not go to say that she did not feel the occasional chill down the spine.

She wondered if the chill was because she had suddenly become aware of an extra-terrestrial, unreal being in her immediate vicinity. She wondered if she could communicate with whatever it was, if it would indeed be a treasure-house of wisdom from the beyond. She wondered if it would harm her, maim her and torture her; what would she do then?

Scream, of course. There were others in the house, too. They would do something, wouldn't they? She was not sure how powerful human will would be against that of a supernatural entity. Maybe she would scream and nobody would listen.

Nothing happened, of course. No screams in the night went unheard, no inexplicable events took place to arouse her fantasy, no supernatural being ever came into contact with her.

She grew up and realized ghosts weren't scary at all. People were.

A thought to begin the year.

Rituals are important, they say; but nobody knows why. There is hardly any evidence pointing to the reason behind certain rituals, be it folklore or be it some vague symbolism, and even then there is no telling why these rituals are still significant to our spiritual lives.

Being an Indian, the symbolic significance of religious traditions and rituals is omnipresent in the celebration of  any festival, but seldom explained to us. The enormity of time that has passed since the creation and early practices of these rituals leaves a lot to wild guesswork, and revisions. We believe that all religious practices must have some logical inspiration, and it is therefore very easy to determine what practices are genuine and what have come through the adulteration of time.

Traditions that are symbolic lend themselves to a host of interpretations, provided your thoughts are not restricted by what your elders tell you. Case in point: the festival of Vishu, the Tamil New Year.

Every year, our mother would tuck us in on the night before Vishu with the anticipation of wealth, fresh fruits, sweets and the Kani. Now the Kani is a curious spectacle that brings excitement to this festival, mainly because of the particular way each item is placed with respect to the other. The Kani includes a huge vessel made of five auspicious metals; the 'Kanikonna', a bright, golden flower associated with Lord Vishnu; all sorts of golden fruits such as bananas, jack-fruits and the golden cucumber; gold coins, coconuts and rice grains with turmeric. These objects reflect the colour of gold, in that they symbolize prosperity. A statue or a picture of Lord Vishnu is then placed in the midst of the decoupage with a golden radiance.

Now for the curious part; the mirror. The mirror must be placed in such a way that the kani must be visible only as a reflection to the onlooker. Also, the kani must be the first thing seen by an individual after waking up, which means a blindfolding of sorts that leads one to the kani.

The elders have told us that the mirror is so that you look at your own reflection just as you look at that of the kani; that symbolizes the fact that only you can bring prosperity and happiness unto yourself. This responsibility is therefore the first thing you assume as the year begins; the responsibility of the prosperity of oneself.

I interpret it this way: the mirror signifies that prosperity is nothing but an illusion, and it is necessary to stick to this idea for the fear of becoming complacent. The fickleness of wealth is reminded to us at the beginning of every new year, taken as a warning to value all that we possess, for we may lose everything in the blink of an eye.

The idea of illusions is not a new one; wasn't that Lord Krishna who said that all the world is just an illusion? Every single thought in our minds, all the laws of physics, this universe and our existence is but an illusion. That must mean that what we experience is not reality, because there is no such thing as reality! That must mean that we are all living a shared illusion of life, and madness is nothing but the breakage of this illusion.

So wouldn't being mad mean that you finally gain control of what seemingly belonged to you in your sanity; your mind? Discerning between reality and truth, between singular sanity and shared insanity; it is sheer madness!

Consciousness is real, but every other altered state of consciousness is true.

What a great thought to start the year with.

The Language of Maths

It's not as boring as it sounds. It's actually quite an amusing story.

Once upon a time, back in school, I used to slog it out with algebra and geometry and trigonometry and calculus and those thingamajigs. I could swear that every important person I met was brilliant at math, and they used to swear by one rule: it's only the answer that counts. Many of them asserted that it was the only reason they actually loved math; no beating around the bush, like in the languages. It doesn't matter what algorithms you use, what formulas you're taught or how you prefer to write your 4's and your 7's, as long as your answer's right.

One might argue then, as to what the point of math class is, post the invention of a calculator.

So, back when I used to struggle with the math, we were told in school that we had marks for the procedure. Many saw it as a chance to score even if the answer was wrong; I saw it as an added stressor. What if I miss a step and lose marks on that? What's the point of this whole charade when nothing but the end result mattered, I asked.

I was never a math person, but I was a good student. My family comprises of hardcore Science and Commerce students, and there is a whole seeking-their-approval thing that may be spoken of another day; let's just say that scoring in math was the only way I could get out of school peacefully. There; motivation.

One fateful evening, I was frustrated with algebra. It seems simple now, but back then I was in the 6th Std. Everything is difficult in the 6th Std.

6x+7y= 84
"Argh!"
"What?", asked my dad. Let me warn you, he's kind of a Math wizard.
"Well, this seems like something we've already been taught, but there's this whole procedure that I need to do before I get to the answer. I've solved a hundred sums today, but if I forget a single step, I lose marks! It's exhausting", I burst out.
"Is it not in English? Read it." My dad said, not looking up from his newspaper.
"What?", I asked, confounded.
"Read it." My dad said, plainly.
"Ok. 6 x's and 7 y's equal 84", I said. Something clicked.
"There. Would it not help your teachers if they could make sense of what you write in the paper? They can read it out just as you did, and then they'll know you've understood your algebra and are not faking it."

6 more years of math after that, and every difficult sum I solved reminded me of this.

I haven't even glanced at a math sum in a year, and this has been the best year of my life, by far; though those might not be completely related statements. I am today a language student with a passion for literature and writing. Would I have been this if my dad hadn't asked me to read the language of math all those years ago? Probably not. My dad taught me to find meaning, a pattern, a language in everything, and it is only today that I absolutely appreciate it.

Math is a form of literature that is straightforward in its own right. And all those signs and symbols that the Greek so sadistically passed on to us, all make sense. Each line in math makes sense; in fact, if it wouldn't screw up decimals, I'm pretty sure they would let us have full stops and commas in the sums too! I'm not saying I miss it; I'm saying I appreciate its presence in the 12 years of my life.

There was also a lesson there, wasn't it? Oh yes, something about means and ends. Never mind that.

Not the same thing.

Wonder how translation works? You need to know at least two languages perfectly for translating a text. Say, you obtain a text in one language and are asked to translate it to the other. You simply find a dictionary and that's that. Sounds easy enough.

But language isn't mechanical that way. It is an art; words have shades, like colors. Emotions have shades and each shade has its word, with its own shade. It is like inception; it is complex. Translation mustn't just happen at the niveau of the text.

I could never understand how a single language could be sufficient. The beauty of language lies in its multiplicity. When you pick up more languages as you go, it just becomes that much easier to express stuff; it takes that extra mile to bring you home.

For instance, 'sundar' or 'belle' cannot convey the weight of 'khoobsurat' or 'brahmadham'. 'Twilight' isn't an appropriate fit for sentences where 'aube' can do better. 'hair' or 'cheveux' can't say exactly what 'zulfein' means. 'eyelids' and 'kannamudi' are just  sad excuses to the meaning that 'palakein' subscribes. 'nasheela' has not the connotation that 'sultry' implies.Earlier in the post, the word 'level' could not mean what I meant by 'niveau'.They don't fit.

Even within the same language, 'impossible' is not the same as 'incredible'; 'rage' isn't 'anger'. 'Tristesse' is poles apart from 'douleur'. 'naina' isn't the same as 'aankhein'; 'sayankaal' and 'sandhyakaal' mean different to different people. Synonyms fail, plusieurs fois.

Translation might work to bring people speaking different languages closer, but at what cost? Yes, they mean the same, but the 'arth' just isn't the same. If I had it in me, I would go beyond the languages I know and create one, like Shakespeare or Rimbaud (pronounced: Rambo) did. What they meant by creating words is that, we define the world with the words in our dictionary, but what about those moments of speechlessness, those instances of indefinite 'flood of emotions', that 'kshan' when you open your mouth and shut it, because you just don't know what that particular emotion is called?

And what about hallucinations? What about fantasy, reverie, other states of consciousness. All those times you described something as a 'blinding white light', could you be sure it was actually a blinding white light and nothing else? Could you believe your own words?

When you break it down, you find that the inspiration is what differs; it is the 'prerna' that makes a word what it is. You can't use two words having different inspirations to mean the same. It doesn't work that way.

Punctuation, pronunciation, even body language work along the same lines. Language isn't just bits of grammar and syntax that are put together to form something; it is more like a jigsaw puzzle.You don't have to be metaphysical to see it; because when a word fits perfectly, you just know it.

The FIRST move

   So the start of college brings along with it amazing new experiences. We meet our old friends and find them to be just how we left them at the beginning of summer. We meet our other old friends with new hairstyles, new bags, new attitudes. We meet old acquaintances, and turns out, they are so similar to us, its surprising we weren't best friends since forever. We meet new people and suddenly we are one huge group of dysfunctionals that the chatwallah finds amusing *pride*.

  And then we 'spot' people we would like to know. Crushes or otherwise. We try to find out stuff about them, get some mutual friends, find out whether they are single, then don't care anyway. We send them requests, stalk them (a little), smile at them every time they pass us in the corridors, in the foyer, and in classes; not knowing whether they've got any idea or whether they care. And then, we wait.

  One fine day, we see them online. And our heart starts racing.

  We quickly arrange our profile pictures. Then we wonder whether it is right to send a message first. They probably don't know that we exist, their 1009 or so friends on the friend-list suggest that. Their 50 albums and 800 pictures with a million different people, their thousands of wall posts and their hundreds of game requests show that you are probably just a fly on the windshield that is their Facebook profile. Pfrrt, Facebook.

  Why make the first move though? Once guys know that you want to talk to them, they ignore you. Or so I've been told.

  But wasn't it us who spotted them first? Isn't it only practical to say hi and make our existence known  rather than simply assuming?

 And then, it takes every ounce of courage we have left at 9.30 pm, after a freakishly long, tiring day to commit this act of social suicide. Send a message. To a senior. A hot senior.

  And then we do.

  A few minutes later, no reply. We feel like a fool. And then, they go offline.

  The first move is then the first of many other first moves, and each brings about a feeling of elation along with a dollop of self-loathing. Like cheating on your 3-month long diet with a whole bar of chocolate. You can't help feeling good about something so letting down, so condescending, so greatly disempowering. And the best argument we've got: It's only a 'hi'.

  Maybe 'hi' is not worth it. Maybe it is.

  But then, the first move is where it all begins. *signs off dreamily*

  

That huge walnut of ours...

   As much as I enjoy lying on my bed, taking in the heat that I have no choice against, seeing as the electricity board seems to think its funny to impose load shedding only in the hottest months in the year, I won't deny joblessness does call for philosophy. Not that I am saying that philosophers are all jobless, but it seems our mind is so occupied with menial things at other times; what's for breakfast, why doesn't the train ever come on time, why are the lectures so long, what if he likes me, why is my friend being an ass, why doesn't that loud lady on the bus shut up, who the hell invented homework, who the hell changed the TV show timings, why don't they ever show Deathly Hallows on HBO...etc. 

   But then thinking up a philosophy lesson while lying on my bed seems to be the perfect thing to do on a lazy afternoon in a tropical city with no electricity.

   What's funny is, when a particular thing is a part of our lives, we take it for granted. And when it's no longer there, you want it desperately. The human mind is so fickle, so irritatingly relaxed about such serious things, and realization is always late. What strikes me is the universality of this. How, weirdly, this applies to us all.

    What goes on in that huge walnut of ours? What's the programming hard-wired in us that makes us so universally indifferent to life? A child wants to be an adult, an adult wants to be old, and an old man wants to be young again. This vicious cycle clearly indicates our tendency to ignore life as we have it, for the want of a better one and so, it's no wonder we end up never being happy.

    The brain is smart; it makes you believe that all that you do is leading to a better life, a better future, when all you are really doing is counting down your days. Choose the right subjects, choose the right stream, choose the right profession, choose the right partner, and keep choosing till death is your only choice with just enough time to look back and brood over all the wrong choices you have made.

    How about not worrying about what you are going to be doing for the rest of your life, but making choices that make you enjoy the next minute wholly, solely, completely, boundlessly? After all, there is no guarantee that there will be a next day, definitely not in a crazy city like Mumbai. So if you aren't sure of the next minute, how can you make a choice for life?

    The walnut of ours has been so conditioned by society, a society that thinks only of the future; a society where mild, helpful foresight has been converted into literally living in the future, that that's the way we think now.

    Maybe what this world needs is a bit of spontaneity. Life in the present is so beautiful, if only we'd start living it too.

oh that feeling...

Shopping. Not one of my fortes. I was never the kind that'll just pick up her wallet and go shop for all its worth.I was never the kind that'll get over 'the guilt' after shopping that easily. I was never the kind that'll bargain through her teeth and feel the victory of saving 200 whole rupees, but that's more because i never could!

And, as a result, I have ended up having some pretty embarassing shoe dilemmas.

But today i finally conquered that side of me.

The day was an action-packed Sunday, with a movie and then a train ride to CST with Sanjana, telling her the story of the movie, and then a cab ride to Colaba Causeway.

As we entered the colourful, lively street lined with everything under the sun, I remembered, and almost got, the familiar feeling I usually get standing at Cafe MondeGar; the one of a painful walk, with too many things and too light a pocket, with maybe a bite at Mad Over Doughnuts to soothe it out; definitely a drool conversation with whoever was with me as we passed the Cafe Leopold (who have a knack of keeping the most sinful pastries they make in the display); the spotting of something great and ending up bargaining too badly for it and not buying it anyway; the guilt in the cab ride back from the Causeway....

But today, I was determined. And I had saved up enough to shop till I drop this time! Plus, I really needed to learn to bargain....

Sanjana helped a lot, of course. She's an expert in bargaining. She has the can-make-the-cute-puppy-dog-face-so-the-shopkeepers-will-sell-me-anything-and-everything-for-half-the-price and the can-fight-the-hell-out-of-him-if-he-doesn't spirit. Shopping, totally her forte.

So today was better than any day i went shopping in a mall. It was fun. I did learn to bargain. And I did get some amazing tops, a cute pair of shorts, a pretty froggy flip-flop, and a huge pair of glares. And yes, I did have a lot of shopping bags at the end. And i did save a lot of monies *wink*

I finally know 'the feeling' shopaholics talk about; the satisfaction of having bargained well. The knack of not thinking how much lighter the pocket feels and of thinking how amazing lots of shopping bags feel. The appreciation of all the colours and all the liveliness, the victory of having bargained like a maniac, the pride of showing it all off to my family...

I can finally use the expression, 'oh, that feeling'....

Christmas is freakin' HERE!!!!

Christmas is 2 days away!!! and for 15 years of my sad life, i had no idea how wonderful Christmas really is.

Apart from the Christmas tree, drawing and colouring which would be our assignment every year in art class before the little Christmas break; and the skit on sports day, generally on 23rd or 24th December, in which i used to dress in my frilliest white frock and have a halo, i.e. be an angel for a few minutes, Christmas holidays meant chilly nights, someone dressed as santa and distributing toffees on Christmas, and hard core preparation for the exams that followed the holidays!

So Christmas was no Diwali for us.

However, when my English prof told me and my friend Raadhika that we had to set up a carols group about 2 weeks ago, Christmas took a whole new meaning....

The trees in the woods were all decorated with tinsel and bells; the air had a chill to it, my thickest blanket became my best friend, the secret santa chits were all drawn, lectures were bunked incessantly because we so wanted to win the carol singing competition, Meryl's mom had sent us a freshly baked batch of spongy and sinful walnut and date cake, and Michelle, Sanjana, me n Maddie had started planning the Christmas sleepover, with the Midnight Mass, and then a little fire on the terrace, milk and cookies, plum cakes, pizzas, marshmallows, and ghost stories and gossip... and even the VLC media player icon donned a Christmas hat (which my brother suspects is spam)...

Christmas was freakin' here!!!!!

But, then, along with that, the last day of SYJC drew near, people started posting senti statuses on Facebook and were hugging and kissing all over the college, and then, prelims.... But what the hell, its Christmas!!!!

So now the next two days i'm going to be singing jingle bell rock all day:p
Merry Christmas yeverybuddy!!!!!!!

Why am I monkeying around?

Monkeys are adorable. They love bananas, they're naughty, they're also a pain in the ass. A lot like me!

I've been called a monkey by almost everyone i know. Probably because i can talk non-stop, make funny faces, like a monkey. And just like a monkey jumps from one branch to another, so do my thoughts.And unlike a monkey (or like it, i really don't know) i do end up wondering what i was originally thinking!

Monkeying around is simply what i do all the time. And that's what i do on this blog too. And it took me about one and a half years to realize. Plus, of course, the template was perfect!

So now I'm unleashing all the monkeyness inside me, and i'm gonna have some fun.

Lets swing it!!!

Off the top of my head...

Yesterday was a great day. we had three free lectures and we were done by 1. And I stayed behind in college as usual. My friends can't understand why i prefer staying in college than going home. I don't get why they do otherwise.

And then 'Eat, Pray, Love' was on. Great movie, really. Though I don't get why the whole 'I'm depressed because my love life's a mess' is so huge an angle in it. I like her travels. Hell, i would love to just pack my bags, leave my whole life behind and travel to some completely unheard of place. Or just some day, shut my books, sign out of facebook, say goodbyes and start walking, and just keep walking...

There are so many things I would love. I would love to be extremely rich. I would love to be 25 so people can finally accept that I can do stuff I knew I could do since I was 12. I would love to not be a CR. I would love to not be hated. I would love to bunk all my lectures and just hang around in the college all day. I would love to be loved back. I would love to be able to write and get published. I would love to live in a hostel. i would love to be independent.

And I would love to be thinner, less pimply, less miserable.

Then again, I love to be thrifty, to be 17, to be the CR, to sit for lectures, to be with my family...

On a completely different note, psychology's finally started to interest me. I've been spending time in the library looking up Freud, Jung and Eyesenck. The best part i think is the dream interpretation concept. I mean, we all dream. And it couldn't be meaningless, right? Of all the times we've woken up feeling extremely happy everything's worked out, or woken up sweating, or woken up completely blank and confused and then realised it was just a dream; did we ever wonder why our subconscious wasted so much time showing us something that was not real?

Or was it all real, but we just didn't know it?

And then my brother's going to be 25 in a week. I see a baking opportunity! How about a white chocolate sponge cake with vanilla cream and strawberries? Or a cheese cake? Or a mousse cake? Oh, or a coffee cake...

I tend to get carried away...

Where's the time, i think! the time to have nice days, the time to watch movies, the time to sit in libraries and think about dreams, the time to have wishes, to love,to write, to bake? But then i realize that somewhere between lectures,being crushed in the morning rush, breaking my head over maths and falling asleep reading textbooks, i do manage to find the time...

It all ends today.

In my very first article on my blog, I told you how big a Harry Potter fan I am. It'd been over a year and I have come a long way since then. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.

Today I saw the franchise end in 3D. And amazing though the journey was, I can't help but feel hollow inside, like a part of me ended with it. To what extent that is true, only I shall know!

One may argue its a kids' book, a kids' story. But theres no denying the fact that it used to be a TREMENDOUS part of my life... I lived and died in those 7 books, ever since I became a harry potter fan about 5 years ago. And a lot of what I did become later on, Harry Potter was a huge part of that. And though that sounds like a hyperbloe, it is not...

Harry Potter was the first novel I ever picked up. And it inspired me to read more and more, eventually encouraging me to pursue languages. J.K.Rowling inspired me to begin writing, and created in me an interest for plotting and storytelling. It indeed came storming out of her books; the way she linked each book with the other, making it sort of a jigsaw puzzle, and how she left loose ends everywhere, and then tied them all up to make perfect sense, to make the readers believe in the magical world. It is not just a book, a mere story, it is a work of genius.

As people change, they keep one something from their past, something that reminds them of what they really were inside; Harry Potter was that one something for me. And so it is really hard hitting the reality that it is now over, and that there isn't really anything more to look forward to in it...

A lot of people say I'm weird about Harry Potter, and that its about time the HPmania ended. But does it all end here and today? who knows...

The Busy Bee drops in every once in a while...

How awesome is being busy? perhaps as pathetic being not busy is. And this blog has borne the brunt of both extremities of my life in the past year. Thats right, I have been blogging for a year...

Its like a cycle, I realized. I get bored, i blog about being bored, about it being increasingly monotonous, and then i get busy! And then as if all of a sudden, I am too busy to enter my blog, and even if i do, too tired to actually blog... There is a lot to write about, but it is just too hard to select something to write on.

There has been so much going on in life; college has begun, and with quite a flare, i must say. And my lucky streak! The first 2 weeks of college were so eventful, its hard to believe its been only a month since it started off! My cousin moved in to town, and i discovered how close we would have actually been if he'd moved in before! And my birthday came and went by, without so much as a whisper to the kaleidoscope. It was great, we had a good time, but beyond that, whats there to write about?

Malhar work has begun, and between lectures, auditions, preparations, math classes (and a few feuds with friends here and there) life has been exhausting. Perhaps one of the reasons I am sitting here, with my laptop, very sick, instead of going to college which is so much more fun!

And then there was the day i went completely goth over my grief of Harry Potter coming to an end. It was quite emotional, and all my friends wondered if I'd fallen down and hit my head or something.

And so much more! Life is such a roller coaster ride, and right now i'm sitting all buckled up, hoping for more loops-a-hoop!

cheers =)

The nonsense that happens…

There was a guy a few decades ago, who did weird unheard of stuff to test the patience of the opponent, and did ultimately end up freeing a whole nation. He made history, and of course a few controversies, and he became an example. It made perfect sense.

Now the nonsense I’m referring to is the sense other people make of it.

A supposedly great yogi gets blamed for corruption, has a ‘satyagraha’ of over hundreds of people, and then escapes police capture feebly, dressing up as a woman. Satyagraha? Really?

The police could put an end to the ‘satyagraha’ by mere tear gas and lathi charge… is that history repeating itself, or history being slapped across the face?

And this tear gas attack is compared to the greatest massacre the country has ever seen. I mean, seriously. A massacre means people dying, not people crying!

A person fasts for a while, and states get divided, organs are formed, bonds are changed. My mom fasts every Friday. So do I get something out of it?

And of course, the whole situation gets turned into politics. This party blames that party, this minister blames that minister, and it goes on. Our country was freed and independent over 65 years ago. I’m just a teenager and I’m already bored by the nonsense that politics has now come to mean.

On a completely unrelated note, a politician starts dancing to patriotic songs, and calls it ‘freely expressing her patriotism’. What are you even supposed to say to that? Good for her maybe! But it is still an issue, and a rather ridiculous one at that.

We have a tendency to blame the world to point at every silly crap that happens and say, ‘it happens only in India’, and argue that India is much more than just that. Well, I’d take a double on that and say, ‘really? You believe that?’

What is India, other than a battleground for politicians trying to get into power, seek maximum attention? What is Mumbai, other than a city where beautiful heritages are plagued with slums and posters of one politician wishing another politician a happy birthday for mere cheap publicity? We know its more than that, but how are we going to convince the world? With all the nonsense that happens, we are very far from bringing the fact that India is a fast growing economy, a hard-working nation, a friendly, peaceful nation with rich heritage and history , to surface.

Politics is weird, because it is game where everyone is a loser, and the winner is in fact the biggest one. Where greed wears the mask of morality. Where you have to think and rethink everything, even democracy, which is the biggest hit in political science yet. Is it really working?
Frankly, I have no idea.

Down that lane...

How often do we click pictures nowadays? A lot, compared to what we used to, say, 15 years ago. And its amazing, how our digital copies and pics remain new all our life, though we keep changing, but thats not my point. I am not talking about the digital memories, which are stored on our D drives; I am talking about the real memories, collecting dust in the back of our closets, or on our lofts. And it is not very often that we care to take a little walk down that lane...

And that is great. In fact, the longer we take to revisit the memory lane, the better is the memory lane. You would'nt marvel at how you looked 15 years ago if you kept looking at the pictures every day. It takes a minute to have experiences. It takes a while for them to become memories.

So why am I bringing out my hidden memory lane suddenly? Because today I had a look at how I looked when I didn't even know what memory was. When I was a 1 year old, with my whole family doting on me.

It was fun. I looked incredibly funny and tiny. And grumpy by the looks of it. And what caught my attention from the 1 year old me, were the 16-years-ago-old-everyone-else!

Its great to see what people you now know used to be like. How my home and family once looked like, their styles, their clothes...

Did whoever invented camera know that it would once be the thing that would preserve memories forever? Probably. And it has. These sepia snaps don't just bring out the faded old colurs of time; they bring out, from the back of the closet and from the back of our minds, memories that never die:)

Maggi......and this time its yellow!

given that yellow is in fact its natural colour, i wouldn't be surprised if you weren't surprised. its just a colour after all. but what do you do when you would like to see 'yellow' dance on your tastebuds like sunlight on a river in the dawn (not that many would, but, well, i did)?

you do what i did. chop a small onion and fry it, add a bit of turmeric and a little bit of chilli powder.then add some water and put in a little bit of sweet corn. then make maggi. add a generous amout of butter, and top it all with a little squeeze of lemon. this is what it should look like, or at least this is what it looked like before i devoured it.

and here's how it tasted. not very different from the maggi you have probably tasted. a little spicier, and the corn gives it another, by large neutral, kick.and even though the pungentness of turmeric seemed to give way to the tanginess of lemon, i was glad, not much of a fan of pungentness. one of the reasons i hate raddish. the butter seemed to bring the spice level a little lower, but apart from the slight smoothness it gave, it didn't do much, seeing as my tongue is still burning. in the end its mainly a wrestle between the corn and the noodles. needless to say, both won!

heres what i could have also added; some chopped yellow bell pepper, sauteed,some baby corn, some asefoetida, and maybe some cheese. thats about it, seeing has not every yellow thing goes.

you can try it out too. here's another thing, it goes amazingly well with chai. cheers=)