The Gadget Girl!

When I was in fifth grade, my dad got me a computer set which filled up half my room.  It was ugly and dorky to say the least. Yet I knew there was a stark “coolness” to it. Behind the white metal box I knew, it was the wings via which my life would take flight.

I coaxed myself to learn bits and pieces of now archaic then in vogue languages like Cobol and Pascal from older cousins who flashed their hefty computer textbooks around, although most of it was jargon to me, I did manage to learn to write commands for petty shapes, get labels for my books printed out etc.

However that hunk of a computer did establish something that holds good even now, however much I deny it, I am a gadget girl. The code was simple: you are what your gadget is.

Three years later, the summer of 98 I got my first windows 97 home personal computer. It was vibrant compared to the first one .Sleeker, with an extra large helping of colour, entertainment and fun. Since then Ricky martin was forever singing Maria to me. 

After that it was a real roller-coaster ride on the digital arena. The World Wide Web came roping in, the dial up Satyam that connected in a jiffy, sending my phone bills soaring to heaven. The colour printers who printed out pages after pages off the Encarta encyclopaedia cd-rom, weaving together pages into my school projects. Video- chatting with distant relatives in Canada to defeating Garry Kasparov on online chess. Yes! It was a new life!

In 2004, when I was sixteen, I joined college I got my first cell phone a chunky Nokia, it was long before Nokia phones had number tags to them. The feel of the phone is fresh in my mind; the 2 X 3 cm fluorescent green display never seems to fade from my memory. It was those wriggly snakes that kept me awake during the drudgery biochemistry lectures of first year.

Two months later I got my first digital camera. A silver sheen Cannon 3.2 megapixel cyber shot found its way from across the Middle East into my hands. It was an era where digital cameras were rare and horridly expensive. Till then I was just another fresher, that day I got the camera I became the “college’s most wanted”. In a span of three months I had more than five thousand snaps to my credit, comprising of love birds posing coyly for a romantic snap, to cacophonic girl groups sticking out their tongue, friends making horny signs above each other’s heads, macho guys showing off their muscles, to setting suns, to half moons, to random scenery .Everything appeared cute enough to be clicked. The Cannon literally bombarded my life.

By the next spring, I sensed a vague restlessness in me. It was a new feeling, something I could not explain then. However now I am very familiar with it. Its stage one of getting bored with your gadget, you fail to take precious care of it like you used to, that means that you stop using the case, you stop keeping it safely, you start leaving it around. Then comes stage two, when you stop using it that frequently, you start eyeing other gadgets; you secretly crave for other faster sleeker models. And finally the terminal stage happens when something else catches your attention, and a new metallic baby becomes the apple of your eye.

The camera and I ended our affair once I laid my hand on my first laptop. There was this new sense of pride beaming in my chest every time I saw Compaq written in shiny silver on the black matt finish cover. I made the transition of taking lecture notes on the laptop, to throwing my OHP markers into the bin and making power-point presentations for every seminar I had to give. My laptop became my best friend, he knew my darkest secrets yet he kept them confidential. Weekends we watched movies together and I would even fall asleep beside him. Thus from miss shutterbug I became miss laptop.

Over the years I acquired newer phones from a Nokia 6600 to a Nokia N 85, from an HTC diamond to a Blackberry. I moved from Cannon to Olympus back to a Cannon. I absolutely loved them when I bought them, but with time you realise that it is not “the one” and a breakup is inevitable.

Later I diverged from standard phone, camera, and Laptop gadget-ery to watches and electronic stethoscopes. When I turned twenty-one I realised there was one thing I have been wanting for a very long time. I wanted something more powerful than a small tablet could offer me. I wanted a car. And thus I got my first set of wheels. My red Chevy and I painted the whole town green with envy. I took her everywhere I went. She was my new BFF.

However now that I am twenty-three this is my inventory A Dell Inspiron Netbook, a Blackberry phone, a Cannon SLR , a Swarovski encrusted Fossil watch, the Littman 3000 electronic stethoscope. Yes, my prefix and suffix defines me, but I am what my gadgets are. I am a gadget girl, I have always been that, and forever will be. That doesn’t mean them, my gadgets are forever, change is inevitable, because always... “yeh dil mange more!”

Epilogue: my birthday is around the corner and my dad was asking me what I would like for a gift, and I was thinking... hmmm maybe a new ride!

PS: don’t tell my chevy that... shhh!

Note: This blog has been typed on a Dell Inspiron Mini . I made the change.Now its your turn.

Change is easy. Be the change said Gandhi ,Make the change says Dell. 

Log on to Dell Inspiron @ http://bitly.com/inspiron

The Gadget Girl

When I was in fifth grade, my dad got me a computer set which filled up half my room.  It was ugly and dorky to say the least. Yet I knew there was a stark “coolness” to it. Behind the white metal box I knew, it was the wings via which my life would take flight.

I coaxed myself to learn bits and pieces of now archaic then in vogue languages like Cobol and Pascal from older cousins who flashed their hefty computer textbooks around, although most of it was jargon to me, I did manage to learn to write commands for petty shapes, get labels for my books printed out etc.

However that hunk of a computer did establish something that holds good even now, however much I deny it, I am a gadget girl. The code was simple: you are what your gadget is.

Three years later, the summer of 98 I got my first windows 97 home personal computer. It was vibrant compared to the first one .Sleeker, with an extra large helping of color, entertainment and fun. Since then Ricky martin was forever singing Maria to me. 

After that it was a real roller-coaster ride on the digital arena. The World Wide Web came roping in, the dial up Satyam that connected in a jiffy, sending my phone bills soaring to heaven. The color printers who printed out pages after pages off the Encarta encyclopaedia cd-rom, weaving together pages into my school projects. Video- chatting with distant relatives in Canada to defeating Garry Kasparov on online chess. Yes! It was a new life!

In 2004, when I was sixteen, I joined college I got my first cell phone a chunky Nokia, it was long before Nokia phones had number tags to them. The feel of the phone is fresh in my mind; the 2 X 3 cm fluorescent green display never seems to fade from my memory. It was those wriggly snakes that kept me awake during the drudgery biochemistry lectures of first year.

Two months later I got my first digital camera. A silver sheen Cannon 3.2 megapixel cyber shot found its way from across the Middle East into my hands. It was an era where digital cameras were rare and horridly expensive. Till then I was just another fresher, that day I got the camera I became the “college’s most wanted”. In a span of three months I had more than five thousand snaps to my credit, comprising of love birds posing coyly for a romantic snap, to cacophonous girl groups sticking out their tongue, friends making horny signs above each other’s heads, macho guys showing off their muscles, to setting suns, to half moons, to random scenery .Everything appeared cute enough to be clicked. The Cannon literally bombarded my life.

By the next spring, I sensed a vague restlessness in me. It was a new feeling, something I could not explain then. However now I am very familiar with it. Its stage one of getting bored with your gadget, you fail to take precious care of it like you used to, that means that you stop using the case, you stop keeping it safely, you start leaving it around. Then comes stage two, when you stop using it that frequently, you start eyeing other gadgets; you secretly crave for other faster sleeker models. And finally the terminal stage happens when something else catches your attention, and a new metallic baby becomes the apple of your eye.

The camera and I ended our affair once I laid my hand on my first laptop. There was this new sense of pride beaming in my chest every time I saw Compaq written in shiny silver on the black matte finish cover. I made the transition of taking lecture notes on the laptop, to throwing my OHP markers into the bin and making power-point presentations for every seminar I had to give. My laptop became my best friend, he knew my darkest secrets yet he kept them confidential. Weekends we watched movies together and I would even fall asleep beside him. Thus from miss shutterbug I became miss laptop.

Over the years I acquired newer phones from a Nokia 6600 to a Nokia N 85, from an HTC diamond to a Blackberry. I moved from Cannon to Olympus back to a Cannon. I absolutely loved them when I bought them, but with time you realize that it is not “the one” and a breakup is inevitable.

Later I diverged from standard phone, camera, and Laptop gadget-ery to watches and electronic stethoscopes. When I turned twenty-one I realized there was one thing I have been wanting for a very long time. I wanted something more powerful than a small tablet could offer me. I wanted a car. And thus I got my first set of wheels. My red Chevy and I painted the whole town green with envy. I took her everywhere I went. She was my new BFF.

However now that I am twenty-three this is my inventory A Dell Inspiron Netbook, a Blackberry phone, a Cannon SLR , a Swarovski encrusted Fossil watch, the Littman 3000 electronic stethoscope. Yes, my prefix and suffix defines me, but I am what my gadgets are. I am a gadget girl, I have always been that, and forever will be. That doesn’t mean them, my gadgets are forever, change is inevitable, because always... “yeh dil mange more!”

Epilogue: my birthday is around the corner and my dad was asking me what I would like for a gift, and I was thinking... hmmm maybe a new ride!

PS: don’t tell my chevy that... shhh!

the cricket lovers take

Now that the entire cricket show in the subcontinent has temporarily taken a pause and that the new movie in town is “the Lokpal bill featuring Anna Hazare and Baba Ramdev” running successfully over the last six weeks .I was  drifting through various blogs and articles to keep myself updated. I personally hate been hash-tagged ‘nerd’ because of my prefix. And thus it was a pleasant change when I stumbled on some articles written by an esteemed author on cricket.

However I was a little zapped. Within a month’s span he had written two articles that were so contradictory. The stark change in his take on the different forms of cricket jarred me. Maybe he does that because like he says’ he earns fifteen percentage of his living by writing about the game. So he has to write’  I guess for him its just about writing on anything related to the game, and  as long as the article has multiple  cricket tags the pay-cheque will reach his account. For me however it is different. I am writing this motivated only by my passion for cricket.

Let me walk you thru my very own personal cricket journey. I have always been a cricket lover. In fact I think ever since I was a kid I knew more about cricket than any other game. I followed every single cricket match I could. I have even bunked school, missed exams, given up on sleep, all to watch cricket matches. People found it rather queer that a mallu girl could recollect cricket stats faster than multiplication tables.

However, even though my other cricket passionate family members were stuck up on the aristocracy of test cricket, I readily took in ODI’s with the same passion. For me somehow, it was not the purity of the game or the version that mattered, it was about  the patriotism that struck right at the root of  my heart when I saw the “ men in blue” in action. It was only while watching a cricket match that i felt the real essence of being a proud Indian .While in the stands, it felt like my voice box was made for the sole purpose of cheering for India and every sweat pore was actually bleeding blue. Even in the hottest of Indian summers I have got goose bumps watching them play.

I lived through watching Sachin mature, his lovely curls shorten. I have seen the Sharjah cups, Anil Kumble’s ten wickets take. I have witnessed Gangulys shirtless action. Survived the horror of the Azhar- Jadeja-Mongia disaster. I have proudly seen a mallu make it to the team and mourned his crashing out. (this was way before Sreesanth, Abbey Kuruvilla anyone remember?) I have seen the young Yuvi with fire in his eyes, the wannabe Dhoni with his long hair become captain cool, I have seen every edition of the world cup since it was last played in the subcontinent. It was all good till the introduction of the IPL.

It looked like the IPL had become a new sort of game of planet Bollywood. Some new game ,like Qidditch. Which normal mortals like you and me couldn’t play. The rules were written in a language that the aam- admi couldn’t read. It was all about the magical Indian royalty- the Ambani princes of Mumbai, Prince Wadia and his pretty beau of Punjab , The Badshah of Kolkota, off course the King of Bangalore  and few other savvy tycoons and beauties who swore their alliances to  Lalit Modi, who for some reason reminds me of the Russian ‘Rassputin’.I had gone through the first three editions of the game blindfolded. The new cricket seemed warped; the game got wrung between the glam and glitz. Cricket migrated from the traditional last page in the newspaper to page 2. The after parties, the semi naked pom pom girls from some poor Russian country who parade for the crowd, it all became jargon in my cricketing language

During the first three  seasons of the IPL I busied myself in my work and studies but this year, I was so high on my cricketing meter, post the exhilarating world cup I decided that I would give the IPL a shot to impress me. After a quick update on what I had missed during the first three seasons. I was ready to dace the IPL tamasha. Then came the dilemma of which team to support. After much debate and a fight with my better half, I decided to support the Chennai Super Kings .It made no sense to me in supporting Mahela Jawardena and his half band wagon of lankan boys, owned by a non mallu, just because their ridiculous jerseys said Kochi Tuskers Kerala. Besides, I felt good as I was still supporting the captain of the blue boys.

To please my better half and to undo the crime of “treason”, I decided to go for the KTK vs DDD match on the 30th of April in Kochi. It was a four o clock match. The sun was still there in the western sky, it was surprisingly pleasant. The salty breeze from the Arabian Sea blew me backwards in time, suddenly I remembered. The last time I came to the stadium was for an India vs Australia ODI. It was the first ever match to be played in Kochi. An amazing match, my throat got sore screaming, my skin got burnt I looked liked a baked potato but the highlight of the day was Sachin’s five wicket haul and more importantly the win. The 5 for 32 I guess is still his best bowling figures.

The IPL match was mundane I dint neither feel the adrenaline nor the melodrama, KTK lost I was emotionless. That night I had a long talk with myself. Who should I support? The KTK team with more Sri-Lankans than mallus? Should I support royal challengers because I think Vettori looks cute with his glasses? Should I pray for Valthaty every time he bats because we pray to the same god? What or where is the logic?

I might not be a cricket historian, commentator or guru. All I am is a cricket lover. But one thing I know for sure is that you can’t enjoy d game sitting on the fence. You need to support one side, you need to cheer with them and cry with them. You need to bleed with them.

The week after we won the world cup I read an article in the “Open page" in the Hindu, which said”that in India the only unifying religion is cricket”. But somehow I feel that the IPL is making Indian cricket look like a gang war with mafia, money and their women!

It takes a lifetime to build a relationship of the nature that I have built with the Indian cricket team and no, I am not going to let any Premier league team take that away for me. I am just going to take the IPL seasons as bouts of bad viral diarrhea, explosive and violating my peace. However I do know that it will pass away sooner than it came and get flushed down the annals of cricketing history.

NOTE: If any of you missed SV’s articles, please do read- http://www.espncricinfo.com/page2/content/story/517217.html test cricket fans, shut ithttp://www.espncricinfo.com/page2/content/story/518441.html test cricket haters come here to be slapped. (No he isn’t paying me for publicity).

letting go

Have you ever gone through the agony of “letting go” of a loved one. Carrying their coffin and lowering it down. Standing at the pyre and watching him becoming embers of flame, smoke, mixing into the wind, and becoming absolute nothing. The pain in your heart choking you till you can’t breathe?

I met Harry, during the summer of 2005. It was a year after I joined med school and I was bored. I wanted someone more alive compared to the dead blokes in anatomy.

I had come home for a weekend getaway and I was wandering about in the familiar alleys of my city. That’s when I saw him for the first time. Harry was built well; his jet back hair was a canopy over his fair face. Oh! it was love at first sight. The instant I saw him I knew I wanted him.

Somehow I gathered enough courage to initiate a conversation. It was my first time, I was under-confident and my fingers were unsteady. But somehow Harry was smooth and he knew exactly what to say for everything.

I went back to college with a heavy heart that he couldn’t come with me. I kind of mentioned him to my dad before I left. Somehow during the week he met my dad, unexpectedly my dad approved, and by the next Saturday we were married. And there was no turning back since then.We watched movies together, read books side by side, and when it was rainy and I was feeling blue we listened to Bryan Adams together. On those cold winter nights I snuggled unto him under the blanket, he was so warm so always reassuring. We were so happy so content.

He was there with me through thick and thin, thru good days and bad ones, thru summer and winter. Everywhere I went he came with me. We played on the sands of Kavarati to on the snows of Manali. We traveled thru 15 countries. Even when I was in my busiest posting, and when I would reach home at 2 am, he would always be awake. Even when I was sick, and all my friends would keep far from me, he would always be at my side.

I first noticed that something was wrong about two years back. The usual chirpy harry started becoming agitated with trivial things; he became lethargic and rather sluggish. On day, Harry was asleep when I came back from work, which was rather unusual knowing him. I tried waking him up, but he just wouldn’t wake up. I got worried. I shook him rather violently, he opened his eyes but shut them again. I rushed him to the nearest hospital. They told me he was terminal.

I wasn’t willing to give up on someone I love so much so fast. I took him to the best centers, they told me there was not much time, and that I should prepare for the worst.

Being a doctor myself, I symptomatically treated him, pushed him through the darkest of days.

One rainy day a couple of months back, we were sitting on the porch listening to Beethoven, he held my hand and told me “Darling, I know I won’t be around for very long, but I can’t go peacefully until I know you are settled and safe. ”

My friends saw my plight and they felt sorry for me. They would set up blind dates for me, but I would never turn up.  Finally, a couple of weeks back Harry asked me to meet this guy he knew, his name was Derrick I agreed to meet him, to make Harry happy. At first I was skeptical, but somehow the more I spoke to Derrick, the more I knew that he would understand the complex situation I was in. How my life was intertwined with Harry’s.

 And thus yesterday, after many meetings I finally overcame the fear and let Derrick hold my hand. I came home yesterday with a heavy heart and told Harry that I had decided to let Derrick in. Harry told me that he was happy; we lay together on my couch listening to “nostalgia” by Yanni. In the morning, I woke up; Harry was unusually cold. I realized that Harry had died in his sleep. But somehow, I knew Harry was happy. I knew I did what he wanted me to do.  

 I will be moving in with Derrick shortly. My resolve is firm, my bags are packed. Slowly I know I will learn to trust Derrick, tell him my fears and secrets. But Harry will always be my first love; my best-est friend and he will never fade from my memory.

 I will always love you Harry.

(Note: Today after 6 years I am replacing my HP laptop (Harry) with a Dell (Derrick).)

letting go

Have you ever gone through the agony of “letting go” of a loved one. Carrying their coffin and lowering it down. Standing at the pyre and watching him becoming embers of flame, smoke, mixing into the wind, and becoming absolute nothing. The pain in your heart choking you till you can’t breathe?

I met Harry, during the summer of 2005. It was a year after I joined med school and I was bored. I wanted someone more alive compared to the dead blokes in anatomy.

I had come home for a weekend getaway and I was wandering about in the familiar alleys of my city. That’s when I saw him for the first time. Harry was built well; his jet back hair was a canopy over his fair face. Oh! it was love at first sight. The instant I saw him I knew I wanted him.

Somehow I gathered enough courage to initiate a conversation. It was my first time, I was under-confident and my fingers were unsteady. But somehow Harry was smooth and he knew exactly what to say for everything.

I went back to college with a heavy heart that he couldn’t come with me. I kind of mentioned him to my dad before I left. Somehow during the week he met my dad, unexpectedly my dad approved, and by the next Saturday we were married. And there was no turning back since then.We watched movies together, read books side by side, and when it was rainy and I was feeling blue we listened to Bryan Adams together. On those cold winter nights I snuggled unto him under the blanket, he was so warm so always reassuring. We were so happy so content.

He was there with me through thick and thin, thru good days and bad ones, thru summer and winter. Everywhere I went he came with me. We played on the sands of Kavarati to on the snows of Manali. We traveled thru 15 countries. Even when I was in my busiest posting, and when I would reach home at 2 am, he would always be awake. Even when I was sick, and all my friends would keep far from me, he would always be at my side.

I first noticed that something was wrong about two years back. The usual chirpy harry started becoming agitated with trivial things; he became lethargic and rather sluggish. On day, Harry was asleep when I came back from work, which was rather unusual knowing him. I tried waking him up, but he just wouldn’t wake up. I got worried. I shook him rather violently, he opened his eyes but shut them again. I rushed him to the nearest hospital. They told me he was terminal.

I wasn’t willing to give up on someone I love so much so fast. I took him to the best centers, they told me there was not much time, and that I should prepare for the worst.

Being a doctor myself, I symptomatically treated him, pushed him through the darkest of days.

One rainy day a couple of months back, we were sitting on the porch listening to Beethoven, he held my hand and told me “Darling, I know I won’t be around for very long, but I can’t go peacefully until I know you are settled and safe. ”

My friends saw my plight and they felt sorry for me. They would set up blind dates for me, but I would never turn up.  Finally, a couple of weeks back Harry asked me to meet this guy he knew, his name was Derrick I agreed to meet him, to make Harry happy. At first I was skeptical, but somehow the more I spoke to Derrick, the more I knew that he would understand the complex situation I was in. How my life was intertwined with Harry’s.

 And thus yesterday, after many meetings I finally overcame the fear and let Derrick hold my hand. I came home yesterday with a heavy heart and told Harry that I had decided to let Derrick in. Harry told me that he was happy; we lay together on my couch listening to “nostalgia” by Yanni. In the morning, I woke up; Harry was unusually cold. I realized that Harry had died in his sleep. But somehow, I knew Harry was happy. I knew I did what he wanted me to do.  

 I will be moving in with Derrick shortly. My resolve is firm, my bags are packed. Slowly I know I will learn to trust Derrick, tell him my fears and secrets. But Harry will always be my first love; my best-est friend and he will never fade from my memory.

 I will always love you Harry.

(Note: Today after 6 years I am replacing my HP laptop (Harry) with a Dell (Derrick).)

Serendipity square

Serendipity Square:

(note: this article was written a year ago, however i could never complete it. today it might seem out of context , but this was one kept me alive during some dark days)




If you have the time, come walk with me, I will take you to my favorite haunt. It’s little off the crowded wall streets where the prim and proper slither around in their killer stiletto’s, well past the buzzing alleys with Chinese soup smell, past the ghetto of “nazi -an refugee” look a-likes, a mile away from the noise and clutter, the chatter and the confusion.


I know the name sounds pretty fake, but please rest your fears. You are in safe hands; I will lead you there. A place where once you reach, you will have no doubts whatsoever. There are no boards, which hoot, “ Welcome to Serendipity Square!” Our destination is marked by an imaginary milestone, where you feel so very calm and in commune with yourself. And when I see a new smile framing your face ;I will let you know that we have arrived.


I must warn you that first looks might not impress you. But I will urge you to wait and just take a whiff of the air. The intriguing aroma of life here, hits you so hard, you feel unstable for a second, and then like an addict you know this was what you were craving for, for so long.


Serendipity Square is this place of tranquil that I have found amidst the maddening crowds. Sometimes, I just have so much time that it entangles me in its tentacles, and make’s my latent analytical neurons fire and charge. And as I start thinking, one thought leads to another, and thus I keep getting lost in space and time.


I glide past events, take relays in and out of memory lanes, ponder into those moments in the deepest sulci of my brain. Sometimes I get enough strength to open up those forbidden Pandora boxes which I have stealthily hidden . And thus having set out so far from my start point I get lost, in the web that my thoughts have woven around me and its so icky at times that I get stuck, or even maybe move around in concentric circles.


You will agree that, sometimes thinking and rationalizing with yourself, ironically doesn’t give solutions, but makes confusions deeper. And for me it is in those moments that I need the space and the calm to smoothen those creases that ornament my forehead, to heal those hurt cords, so that peace will be restored in my battlefield mind.


Thus, when I am in one of those estranged situations; all I want is to leave the blitzkrieg of life behind me and run to this point of solace. I sit here, on these old stone benches and watch life and time pass by. No thinking, no unending arguments in my head. Life just in “pause mode”, muted for a while, till I regain my calm. And thus as I watch the game from the sidelines, things appear clearer, a different perspective, and sometimes, my mind even surprises me with some solutions.




And yet there are those some other times, when I have no issues to deal with, no problems to solve, no answers to deliver, then I just let my mental reel playback in random sequences. Some things catch my attention as they flash past. Some others appear repeatedly, in diverse forms; but a few, they just linger on. And about them I pause, ponder and think, and they bring many a grin to my face.


And looking back, the one thing, which I have spent so much time thinking about is, about love. Many a times I have marveled, sometimes I have despised, I have even occasionally challenged its existence and perhaps scorned it also. However, I am sure I am not the only one who feels so vividly about love. However, on a normal day, the four-lettered word is absolutely magical. The very thought of it makes u feel warm, puts a smile on your face, gives u this feeling of belonging. It drives your head into a paranormal intermingling of thoughts, memories and perhaps emotions. Perhaps, even makes you shed a tear.


Looking at the dynamics, of this mystic emotion. It is amazing, how love works. Although sometimes it appears so static, it is so very kinetic. It literally drives you. And as high as it can lift you up, it can crash you also, with an added negative “G” to its momentum!


But what jarrs me most is, how, despite getting hurt over and over again, people still find it in them to bind their wounds and pick up themselves and start all over again afresh. How they never loose faith in love or its capabilities. And I think it’s this invested quality of human beings, which makes them indestructible and undefeatable. Somehow it is even true that when you have lost the ability to love, you are almost dead.


They say time heals everything. Although that is true, the ugly scars always remain even after light years and they even come back to haunt you. But true love, it heals every ghoulish, pus -oozing macabre wound, and true to its promise, always without leaving stray marks. It erases every rancid memory, all of the molding and fungating thoughts in our brains; it brings you back from the undead, and breathes into you a whole new gush of breath and makes you so absolutely reborn. And it is only when all the old slates our wiped out, all the dramatic slow motion haunting pictures are taken off our mental wall; we start living again with a whole new gusto to life.


Although, the double-edged ness of love has been debated and discussed down the ages, yet it still sparkles with the same newness doesn’t it? Yes, I am coming to the million-dollar question, “ So do u believe in love?” Yesterday, I would have been really curious to know your reply, to know why or why not, to argue and rebuttal with you on the topic because even I have had my share of the bitter sweet escapades of love. I would have even tried convincing you to wear your protective harness before venturing into the furnace of love, before its warmth burns you and finally chars you.








Today, however I am not even going to ask u and I would sincerely pity you if you were going to smirk reading this and mentally note, “ Who believes in love anyways!”. Today is about a tale that I want to tell you. Its not a love story, but a story about love. Although marred by the scars of a bad relationship I had not completely shut out my heart to the healing power of love. I had debated within myself, the classical wars between the head and the heart was over, and mentally I had decided it was safer to stay away from the tentacles of love. However my heart knew that if I were lost in the darkness searching for love then only I would be found only through true love.


And it was one of those days; I was sitting by the pool created by my tears. Serendipity Square was desolate, it was unusually quiet. My mind was pretty numb. And when prospective thinking had ceased, some very old reels started playing in my head. It took me back to a time somewhere long before I lost the innocence of childhood.


It was a time when I was fascinated by the principles of serendipity, and even though I had traveled quiet a distance from there I had kept the idea close to my heart. I sincerely believed in the concept of true love and more importantly I believed that it was only serendipitously that you would reach there, it was not planned or purported. I believed that love is such a true and pure feeling that was beyond our understanding, and the numerous permutations and combinations that we do to attain a successful relationship would never match up to the beauty when we let destiny take over and love happen.


I have been in and out of alleged “love” and its hurt my heart more than anything else. Yet I so deeply believe that I have been with all the wrong people and there is that one prince in shining armor waiting for me somewhere, my very own personal highway man somewhere in those thickets and when he sees me, then all those doubts will vanish and all the pain will fade.


And that day love will be a winner.

(note: this is only part one of the trilogy- How I met my brother –in –law (to be)!

also, jiya-ji=jiju=aliyan=brother in law)

“Life comes down to a few moments. This is one of them.”

Wall Street (1987) – Bud Fox (Charlie Sheen)

Everyone knows my brother in law (to be); he is a “celebrity” in the contemporary literary scene. Everyone knows him, except for me! . No, don’t get me wrong, I am not sad or anything. It’s just that, since my hubby (to be) says that his brother “ shaped ”(pun intended) his life a lot, I was really eager and curious to meet this master craftsman of a brother- in- law. Besides there is this thing .I had always hoped that my brother- in- law would turn out to my best friend.

This “Jiju- my best friend fixation” has been there for a good seven years, ever since my good friend Saira told me how her brother- in- law, her “Chachan”, although seven years older to her was her best friend. Maybe my hormone intoxicated teenage friend was just trying to show off then. But the idea had struck gold with me; it was here to stay.

And finally this year all the stars seem to align. Seven years! Seven years I had waited and finally everything seemed to fall in place .I had finally found the guy I wanted to marry and somehow everything seem to fit in so beautifully. The last piece of the puzzle was my Jiju, and guess what? He is exactly seven years older to me. What an auspicious number- seven? But alas! The glitch was that although I had all the pieces of the puzzle, I could not play the game, because I couldn’t get him to play! Damn.

All this happened because my “jiya-ji” suddenly shot up the pedestal of fame and acclaim and left the country to make home in the “English island” like his other successful counterparts, lest he be massacred by the hoards of his not-English enough fans.

And thus while my sweetheart and I got engaged, my jiju was blissfully unaware of the large acquisition he had just made- a new “sister and friend”. And as Jiju was busy scribbling at his notepad looking at the Thames, I was, toiling the summer heat in central Kerala, hearing stories about him and his beautiful wife from everyone else in the family.
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Months passed, and I heard more and more tales and anecdotes of his valor and greatness. Of how “Einstein-acular” his intelligence was and how he marched (because he cant drive) all the way from Kerala to Delhis threshold to marry his beautiful Punjabi “Helen” maiden who could stop a thousand elephants with just a look. (To put Greek, into context for my Malayali reader). Time chimed, stories grew; yet I never met him.

Finally one evening I decided to put myself out of this “suspense” torture. Everyone warned me that my efforts to connect with him would be futile, because he is almost always in “Enthiran mode” and he traded his human coat for self-preservation. He apparently attacks with ‘2 play-stations, four laptops and a desktop computer’. And here I was thinking what kind of a guy in his right mind gives up on the “saali tho aadhi gharwali “ offer. Bottom line is “ my Jiju is the Endhiran”!