The Curious Case of My Career(s)

Disclaimer: This blog reads like a cross between a Linkedin profile and an autobiographical account

Once in 6th grade on being asked what it is that I want to be when I grew up, I replied "Journalist". I always liked writing, and at that point in time was a manic reader. (It's another matter that I also had/have a penchant for drama and an obsession with Hindi movies and thought I should be an actress!)

As the years passed, writing was/is a passion/skill which kinda stuck with me, almost as if a conjoined twin. But in terms of careers, my mind wavered off and on. There was a time when I used to read only Grisham, and decided that law is my calling in life.

By a twist of fate (I end up having a lot of these!), psychology entered my life in 11th grade. Psychology and me, its like we were meant to be. My penchant for drama, my love for stories and human complexities, and my writing - all found a wonderful place in the world of psychology. I did my bachelors and my masters in psychology, and was convinced that my future career will revolve around psychology. In the middle of it, I did a brief stint with an HR consultancy, and also worked as a counsellor for a suicide helpline (the latter is ironic for so many reasons now).

On completing my masters, I literally stumbled into JNU, the hub of academia, research, communism and all things serious. Suddenly, my choice of career veered into research, education and academics. This was the time that I had cleared the 'prestigious' NET exam. It was also the time that I went for quite a number of interviews for teaching jobs in colleges and ended up clearing none. I was a freelance consultant with a publishing house also, and contrary to what I had always believed in, I didn't enjoy it as much as I would have thought.

In the midst of all this chaos, I got engaged. In the gap of 7/8 months between my engagement and my wedding, I interned with CSR, little knowing how it would have such an impact of my life, years later. That internship was just like an internship should be - breezy, stress free, enlightening, happy, and used my favourite skills of writing and research. 

After I got married and moved to Bombay, owing to the JNU stamp, and some recommendations from the sister, I managed to get a job in the educational wing of a renowned global NGO. It was a job very suited for my academic background, but lasted just two months, since I moved back to Delhi.

Once that happened, and amidst all the confusion surrounding my Ph.D plans, I landed up (to much of my shock and horror) as a school teacher, something which was nowhere in my life plans, like EVER. When I completed one year of being a school teacher (my longest job ever up until that point in life), and thought that this was going to be THE career, fate waved its magic wand. I got pregnant! I still remember, one of the first thoughts that came to my mind when I got to know of this life altering news, was "There goes my job" (Yes, like I said, I am very cool like that!). 

I worked through a significant part of my pregnancy, and finally decided to call it quits, simply because I was so blank. I was so blank about how I will feel about working after the baby, or whether I would even want to work, or how I would manage- that I just put in my papers.To be honest, I was fairly convinced in my head that I won't work once I become a mother, because I will have no time or energy left.

The first three months of being a mother are just a big blur in my memory. I remember endless sleepless nights, messed up eating schedules, this absolute state of nothingness, where all days, and parts of the day, were the same. I wondered sometimes if I would ever be 'normal' me again, if I would ever read, or watch TV or go out and shop, let alone hold a job.

Three months passed, and life sort of became normal. There was a more structured routine to my day, and I felt more mentally stable. And that was around the time, that life assumed a certain meaninglessness. I mean, yes I was raising an infant (a VERY high maintenance one at that ), but surely life had something else in store for me?  

It was around that time that CSR, quite magically, re-entered my life. And there I was, leaving behind a 5 month old baby, to go to work twice a week, for a few hours. Looking back at that person, I remember her being so nervous, so jittery, so unsure, more than I had ever been in my life. As a new mother, I suddenly felt that 'mothering' was all I knew - could I really fulfill job responsibilities? To be very honest, I didn't think I would last long in this job, but decided to test my own limits. I had nothing to lose.

Cut to 2017. I have completed two whole years of work at CSR, the longest job I have ever managed to stick to, or perhaps, the job which stuck to me the longest. On the lunch table with my team, soon after I completed two years, my boss asked me "What has been the highlight of these two years for you?" While I mumbled something, it got me thinking, at how bizarre life tends to be. Here I am, working as a social media consultant, literally living on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, writing blogs off and on, doing a bit of research, and have recently started understanding the coding and technical aspects of websites. It's almost funny how what I do now, has no direct relevance to what I studied all these years, or is nowhere close to all the jobs I had held so far. I am not trained in media, or language, but here I am, as part of the Media and Communication Division. Ironically, it is a job I am quite passionate about, and my work is almost an extension of my own personality now- an ideal situation no?

I remember ages ago, I had gone for an interview and the interviewer told me my resume was "eclectic". Maybe it was a unique way of saying "You lack focus." But perhaps it is the best way to define my personality and my experience with jobs too. When I look back at my 'career graph' (for want of a better word), it is a classic case of "Jack of all trades/Master of None". I really admire people who have had a single goal their whole life, or even their whole adult life, and everything they have done is directed towards achieving that goal. On a personal level, I have struggled a lot with being that goal-directed person, but now at this adult age of 30, I truly have made peace with the fact that I am nowhere close, and for my own sanity, I shouldn't try to be. I am a very "go with the flow" kind of person, and it has always benefited me, given my life circumstances. What I find amazing in a sense, is that all the jobs I have had, have been perfect for the life space I was in at that time.

Who knows where the future takes me?

Do naina, aur ek kahani

My first eye test happened when I was barely 10 years old, the reason behind which is subject to some debate. As far as I was concerned, I went to the eye doctor because I had a small cyst in my right eye. Many years later, the mother told me that my dance teacher had told my father to get my eyes checked, because apparently I was exhibiting signs of less-than-normal vision during classes. I remember howling after coming home post the eye-exam, and instantly picking up a book and shouting"Hey I can read just fine!"

My first pair of glasses was a quintessentially nerdy pair- big brown plastic frames, which covered my whole face in a sense. I loved that pair, and somehow believed that they were the coolest thing existing on the planet (once a nerd-at-heart, always a nerd-at-heart). I remember walking into school on the first day of 6th grade wearing them, nervous about what my friends would say. And I distinctly remember one girl saying "Really? You never had glasses before? I always thought you wore them!" I just had one of those faces I was told. I hated removing my glasses even for a few minutes, which I was subjected to often, being a dancer and having to perform on stage ever so often (and a mother who was baffled that her daughter was bespectacled).

I got contact lenses when I was 15. The first time I wore lenses, I kept thinking that they would fall off! Initially wearing them would be a herculean task (umm...not that they got any better, but I just got more used to the process). And for the first two years, I was very irregular with them. Contact lenses scored over glasses on some counts- you had a holistic vision, they didn't fog up when you got out of an air-conditioned car, and you could actually see the rain. Not to mention, the whole aesthetics of it. But you couldn't sleep with your contacts (without getting a headache that is), and god save you if you got something in your eye. Actually, my worst contact lens experience involved me cutting green chillies, washing my hands over and over again, and still having burning eyes when wearing the lenses hourssss later.
Bottom line: I was never much of a contact lens person. I never wore them unless absolutely necessary, and most certainly never while loitering around home. I was never the kind of girl who would balk at the idea of people seeing her with glasses.

So life continued, between the glasses and the lenses. Many people suggested laser eye surgery, and while the idea was very appealing, I never really put much thought into it. Primarily because I was always studying, I always had exams, and basically never had much time at my disposal to go through a surgery, and follow the myriad of precautions which I was told the surgery entails.
That was until a few months ago. After much pondering (and procrastinating) I finally got an appointment with an eye institute two weeks ago, just to see what the fuss was all about. After three hours of testing, and dilated pupils, the doctor told me that my eyes were perfect for the surgery- when would I like to have it? An appointment was scheduled for the week after, and the countdown began. I kept harping about my 'surgery', freaking out only hours before the event when I saw how nervous the parents were.

I wont go into the details of the actual surgery- which are actually imprinted in my brain for life- coz its difficult to put into words the intense fear, and nervousness I experienced for those 25 minutes (the most nerve-wracking time frame of my life). I was numb when I was taken out of the operation room, partly because of the fact that strange things had been done to my eyes- but more so because despite those strange things, my vision was perfect, albeit a tad hazy. It was like I was suddenly wearing a pair of dirty contact lenses. When the parents came to see me with solemn faces, and a pair of dark glasses, I was trembling when narrating what had happened inside that dreaded operation theatre, all the while saying "You know, I can see you both clearly". It was all very surreal- especially for someone whose longest time in a hospital has been the root canal the day after the 24th bday, and the cavity filling at age 10.

The day after the surgery, was the first time in 14 years that I reached for my glasses first thing in the morning, and realized that I no longer needed them. It was the first time that I woke up with clear vision. Surreal? Check.
No its not all hunky dory. The first week, I had to wear a pair of dark glasses 24/7- yes, even while sleeping, which was just the biggest pain e.v.e.r. Not to mention the endless eye drops I was (and still am) subjected to. And the fact that I can't wash my eyes/face, or that my vision is still stabilizing (I'm always nervous about less than perfect sight- aren't we all?!)

But it's still not sunk in that I don't have to wear glasses or lenses anymore. For the latter, I would just say "good riddance". I guess I will miss the former in a strange way. Glasses always worked to make me look more intelligent than I am (!) But more than that, it's like letting go of a part of my identity.

Thus, here goes, a pictorial ode to the tools of vision I was so dependent on for the past 14 years.

Through exams, dissertations, projects. Through performances and parties. In sadness and in joy, in sickness and in health. Good bye old friends. In a way befitting your place in my life, I will forever be grateful to you.

And finally, a few words from the song from which I lifted the title of this post. Perhaps these define the thin line between my old vision and my new vision best.

थोड़ी सी है जानी हुयी थोड़ी सी नयी।  
जहा रुके आंसू वही पूरी हो गयी।  
है तो नयी
फिर भी हैं पुरानी।  
दो नैना और एक कहानी 
थोडा सा बादल
थोडा सा पानी
और एक कहानी। 

Bombay times!

I first visited Bombay at the age of 16, for a cousin's wedding, way back in 2003. Up until then, I was somewhat fascinated by the city, owing to my love affair with Bollywood (Yes I was weird back then- still am actually- but I grew up abroad, gimme some leeway!). I had also heard that Bombay was a lot like New York City, and I l.o.v.e NYC, like l.o.v.e. So in a sense, I was always prepared to love the city. And it didn't disappoint me. We did very touristy things back then, did the usual darshan of Siddhi Vinayak and Mahalakshmi, went to the beaches, had vada pao, did the open bus ride around Gateway in the night (lovely btw), saw the Queen's necklace, went by the local train even.

Last week, I visited Bombay for the third time (my second trip was a brief transit visit) I had been planning this trip for a long time, as a break from the insanity which my life had come to represent for the past so many months. For a long time, it was just a hypothetical situation, existing only in my head. But as all the madness in my life (weddings, thesis, exams) started to diminish, I knew I deserved and needed a break. And Bombay was perfect. Plus I got to see two of my closest friends in the world, who I usually don't get to see very often. So after much deliberation, much planning, many doubts ("what if this happens while I'm gone?") and a not-very-happy set of parents later, my tickets to Mumbai were booked.

I didn't go to Bombay with any expectations, all I wanted was a break from Delhi, from the usual monotony of life. But whatever little expectations I might have had, they were surpassed- and HOW. In every which way. Like the Bandra-Worli sea link. I fell so deeply in love with the sea link that I insisted on going on it regardless of whether it was required or not, which led to some pretty pricey cab rides- but so totally worth it. The fact that it was raining like all-the-time while I was there, resulted in the sea being a tad rough, and thus an absolute beauty to see from the sea link.

Oh-so-gorgeous :)

I stayed at Carter Road, which I was told, and later saw, was one of the posh-est areas in all of Bombay. My dear friend P, has a beautiful cosy flat there, and it was a privilege to stay there with her for four whole days (she's written a lovely blog post about her house, which can be read here) The post doesn't do justice to the loveliness of the house, home rather, but she has done a better job than I ever could. The bestest thing about P's house was that the Carter Road promenade, a sort of a walking track along the sea-side (seriously, how awesome is that?) is a stone's throw away. My first morning, we went for a walk, and came back all drenched- fantasy experience for me, since the only thing I had been getting drenched in in recent times was sweat. During my stay, I was a regular at the place, and spent hours just walking, looking at the sea.

Imagine seeing that every morning *sigh*

And then there was my most favourite part of Bombay, Marine Drive. Oh, how I could kill for an hour at Marine Drive, every time that I want some 'me-time'. The first time I went to Marine Drive was during a very heavy downpour, and P made me get out of the cab with a measly umbrella and made me stand there looking at the sea, so I could 'enjoy' it. I was drenched by the end of it, but how totally I had fallen for the place. So much so, that I went back to Marine Drive on my remaining two days, just to sit there, looking at the vast expanse of the sea. The experience of just staring at the sea, of the waves crashing and hitting you with droplets of water was something which I can probably never ever put in words. It was magic- truly magic.

Favouritest e.v.e.r

Bombay had one other thing which I absolutely loved, especially because I had never ever experienced it in my life- safety. I have spent 9 years in Delhi, and a majority of these years have been spent travelling about the city on my own, at all kinds of hours, in all modes of transportation. And I have never ever felt as safe in my own city in all these years, as I did during my 4 day stay in Bombay. I went around the city on my own in autos, and taxis, without a care, without a worry. It was so strange, and so awesome. I wish I lived in a city like that, I wish Delhi was half as safe as Bombay felt.

Then there were the people. P and I have been friends for 9 years. She has known me since I was 15, and has seen me through many successes, and many disappointments, and life in general. Yet, this was the first time that we were spending so much time together, since school. And it was wonderful to be able to spend that kind of time, and space with one of your closest friends. She was a fabulous host, planning my days perfectly, taking me to all her favourite places, and making sure that I cover everything there was to cover. She motivated me to get out of the house and explore the city on my own, all the while calling or BBMing every few minutes to check on me. She balanced my trip with her super-hectic office hours, and never once let the smile leave her face, except for when she made horrid faces while I was thanking her. So one last time P, thank you- you made the trip a HUGE success, and you are right, I do have a home in Bombay :)
Then there was A, who I refer to as "the sister". She's someone with whom my closeness can't really be defined, and with whom my relationship is one of the most solid things in life. She got married recently, and I wasn't there :( but luckily, I got to meet and spend some wonderful time with her- talking, listening to her words of wisdom, catching up on life, gossiping, bitching about the people we know and don't know. She came early in the morning on the day I was leaving to say good bye- and she's NOT a morning person. I even got to meet her absolutely wonderful better half, one of the few people in this whole wide world who I liked instantly (the fact that he's Tam-Brahm had nothing to do with this btw), and it was so heartwarming to see a couple who are so real, so honest and so wonderful.

The trip was one which was away from my comfort zone in many ways. It was my first ever trip alone, without family, without an itinerary, where I was in charge, I decided what I wanted to do, what I wanted to eat, where I wanted to go, or not go, or go again and again. I met people who are so unlike me, or anyone who I usually hang out with, who come from very different worlds. Maybe that's why the trip was so fabulous, and so different.

While having breakfast on my second morning with the sister and her husband, when I casually mentioned that I quite like Bombay, the sister immediately snapped back and said "Don't stay at Carter and tell me that you like this city. Go by the local train, live the Bombay life, and then tell me you like the city". It's true what she said. In my four days, I was just a tourist. And from the little I saw of life in Bombay, it's a goddamn struggle, in every which way. But despite all this, despite the fact that perhaps living in Bombay is very different, I had the time of my life.

Bombay is not the city of my birth, or the city I stay in. It is not a place where my memories are, or where my life's biggest events have happened. I don't have family there, nor any childhood experiences. I didn't study or work there. In a sense, I have no emotional connect with the city. Yet, there's something about the city which has always intrigued me. And having spent four days in the city, and a considerable amount of time exploring it on my own, my intrigue hasnt diminished. Its a city which I loved and disliked in parts, a city which fascinated me in the things I liked, and the ones I didn't.

It's difficult to verbalize what Bombay represents to me, as of this moment. But for now, lets just say that the Bombay trip of July/August 2011 was out-of-this-world awesome. In every which way :)

Re-search anyone?

I actually started writing this piece way back in july/august, but somehow never got around to finishing it. Perhaps it was meant to be posted now, which is of course the most apt time :)

Over the course of my 'higher education' career, I have had the (mis)fortune (take whichever you think would be apt) of having done three research projects. I was one of the 8 people in my undergraduate class of 30 to take up a research project as an optional, in exchange of the good ole' practicals. Mad our classmates called us then, but till date, it remains one of the most fulfilling, fun and pride-inducing experiences of my life. Perhaps, the only such experience of my life. In masters, it was compulsory. The less said about my masters thesis the better. In fact, the less said about my masters, in terms of 'academic' activities, the better. And then came M.Phil...where they taught us how to carry out research in the first year, and gave the entire second year to submit a dissertation.

Its been quite a relationship I have had with the whole concept of research; very 'love-hate', for want of a more fitting term. And now, since I'm done with M.Phil (yayieee!) I consider myself somewhat of an authority on research. Yes, I am extremely immodest like that! Ok maybe not an authority, but I deem it fit that I am in a position to share my own personal experiences from the past 5 years of submitting theses/dissertations.

So here goes; my wisdom/accumulated knowledge in matters of research. Highly debatable, highly arguable. But its all true. At least for me.

#1- The first thesis is always special. Always. And it's the most honest. 'Coz you have no goddamn idea how its going to turn out- its all very 'trial by fire'. By the time you come to your second thesis, you become very practical. You formulate hypotheses, and conclusions in your head, as soon as the topic is decided. You start worrying about the tools you'll use, and subconsciously choose topics where you know data collection will not be a huge hassle. And by the time the third thesis happens, the whole process becomes somewhat mechanical. You don't put your soul as much, as you did the first time. Things don't affect you as deeply, whether the little joys or the disappointments. Very much like life, this move from the ideal to the practical.

#2- Data collection is always a test of your social/networking skills. I am not known to be much of an extrovert, and can almost border being an introvert/pseudo-snob when it comes to talking to new people. But fortunately, my three experiences with data collection have seen me surpass my own standards with flying colours. My first time, I interviewed 16 families across Bahrain. I spoke to absolutely unknown people, visited their homes, managed to give them enough confidence to have them share their personal experiences with me. My second time, I put my cousins on the job, and grilled them till they made all their friends/colleagues fill out my questionnaires. My third time, I used every bit of my facebook skills and contacted people who I perhaps would never have spoken to, save the perfunctory "happy bday!" message.

#3- Related to #2. Data collection is always a humbling experience. Always. I always feel overwhelmed when rank strangers, people I barely know, help me out. I know what a pain it is to fill out questionnaires, even if it takes 5 minutes. I mean, we've all shoo-ed away those people outside shopping centers and malls who hang around with surveys. During my first thesis, people gave me hours of their precious weekends. Many of them knew my parents personally, but to give that much time and energy to an undergrad student? And that too with smiling faces and open hearts? Big deal! During my second thesis, there were some people who were so genuinely happy to help, and even sent an "all the best" along with their filled response sheets. And my third thesis? Classmate's roommate's friend. School batchmates' friends. Random person I know's cousin. Friend's boyfriend's friend. Friend's classmates from summer school. Most of them absolute strangers, people I will probably never ever see in my life. Not just the people who filled out the questionnaires, there were those who really went out of their to help, to ensure that my data was complete. Some were my closest friends, people I expect the world of. But some were people I hadn't spoken to in ages. In a world of cynicism, if there's anything which can make one believe in the sheer goodness of human beings, it is the experience of data collection.

#4- There will always be drama. In some form or the other. Files vanishing from the cd checked a thousand times- circa 2007. the first thesis. lesson learnt- rewritable cds are rooobish. but then again, that's when I discovered pen drives. Or it could be giving data to be a 'famed' SPSS expert for analysis, only to discover the week before submission that nothing has been done about it- circa 2009. the second thesis. lesson learnt- learn SPSS! it's the easier software EVER. It could also be a multitude of things- two cousins getting married within 2 weeks of each other, 15 days before submission. Or you being over-smart and joining civil services coaching classes to kill time, not knowing that the prelims is just a month before submission. Genius that.

#5- You never feel like you have put in your 100%. The most you'll feel is "Given the circumstances, I guess this is the most I could do." But there will never ever be the satisfaction that you have given it your all. And when you go through it sometime later, many moons after you have submitted, you will notice the millions of flaws. "There was supposed to be a comma there!", "This was supposed to have a 'the', instead of an 'a'!" "What a loooong sentence!" Let alone the other two, but this happened even when I was submitting my first thesis- the one I consider my best, most honest work.

#6-There will be tantrums/outbursts/impatience/crying bouts/headaches/neckaches/backaches/eyeaches. No matter how many dissertations you do, these are a part of the package. It will always be a stressful experience. Maybe the frequency may differ. Maybe your way of getting over the little tantrums may get better. Maybe your way of understanding why you're being so impatient about silly things will get better. But these are gonna be there. Always.

#7- Talking to people who know exactly what it is that you're doing is MUCH easier than talking to those who simply ask "Kitna ho gaya?" I for one, have no patience with the second lot of people. Over the years, I have learned to avoid being around such people during dissertations, especially around submission time. It's easier telling people that you can't think of implications of your research, or that your hypothesis is messed up, than telling them "Umm...i don't know when it'll be final". I wish it weren't that way, but it is.

#8- The decision to finally print (and eventually bind) the thesis is always a tough one. Doesn't matter how sure you are that this is it, and you can't go through the entire thing again, and you really don't care how it is anymore. Doesn't matter that you just want it to be over. It's the most 'final' decision you will ever take with respect to the thesis. Because once it's done, its DONE. No going back. No turning back. Finito. *yikes*!

#9- No matter how many dissertations you do, your heart will always skip a beat or two, when you see the final result. Even though you know that you have written a lot of rubbish inside, the sight of the beautifully bound pages, with your name printed in bold letters on the front cover, is something else.

#10- There is a certain joy in deleting all the drafts from your laptop, knowing that the backups, backups of backups, will not be required anymore. All that is required is the final product, which will sit starred in your inbox, waiting to be downloaded, the next time you do a thesis.

Too long? Don't blame me- I am going to submit a 100 page M.Phil dissertation tomorrow :)

Where are you from?

Four simple words.

Many people give a simple one word answer to this question. "Orissa", "Assam", "U.P."...and the list could go on and on. I, on the other hand, have extremely mixed and confused feelings about this question; regardless of how much I try to simplify the reply, there really is no straight answer to this question.

If I absolutely have to answer quickly in short, I say "I am from Tamil Nadu." That leads to three possible responses- 1) when the questioner just acknowledges it and remains silent after that (an extremely rare phenomena), 2) the questioner acknowledges it and proceeds to ask me further uncomfortable/unanswerable questions like "oh which part are you from?" OR 3) "Really? you don't look it!"

I love category 1)- they make life simple. To category 3)- On a good day, I usually smile and laugh at their stereotype. On days when I am feeling particularly aggressive, I launch into a bhashan about cultural stereotypes. But usually, it's category 2) who make life a little complicated with their persistent questioning.

Generally, I have a rehearsed answer- "Im a Tamilian, but never lived in Tamil Nadu; mostly been brought up in Delhi." But even that's not the whole truth. Because although my parents were born and brought up here and even I was born here, I didn't really grow up here, in the traditional sense. So when someone asks further and starts questioning "Oh which school?", I say "Oh my parents are in the foreign service so I sort of studied all over. But I did my 11th and 12th from Sanskriti." I add the last part, hoping that they would stop the tirade of questions...but I often underestimate the inquisitiveness which is so characteristic of us human beings(!) So then comes the next question "ohhh, where did you grow up?" (yeah, some people are pretty persistent) I proceed to launch into a mini autobiography (more like a mini-geography). Some people, overawed by the mention of so many countries, even go further and ask "How come you don't have an accent then?" or "How come you know Hindi so well?" I even got a "You don't look like you've spent part of your life abroad- you're not classy enough." The last one particularly cracks me up :)

On certain confusing, weird days, I feel like I am from nowhere in particular.

I am a Tamilian, but know nothing about Tamil Nadu, have never lived there, my parents have never lived there, and I have just a smattering of relatives there. I most certainly don't fit into the "Tamil girl" stereotype (at least I don't feel like one). I once got a "You're not dark, you don't wear glasses- you don't look South Indian." UGH.

I am a Delhiite from heart and soul; its the only city I know, its the city I was born in, the city I went to school and college in. But I guess I won't fit into the 'typical' definition of a Delhi girl- I have only spent 11 years in this city (and even thats not 11 years at a stretch).

I have been brought up abroad, but no visible part of me really supports that- i don't have an accent, i am apparently not classy enough.

Major identity crisis in the offing? Not really. The confusion, the complexity becomes me on most days...it's an integral part of who i am. "Where are you from?" is just one of those questions (like this) for which I dont have a one word answer...

What a way to start the new year!

the "2 states" i love

just finished reading *2 states* chetan bhagat's latest venture. and i enjoyed it totally! it was like watching a nice, stress-free movie...one where you dont have to use your brain, but which doesnt make fun of your intellect either. and i definitely dont remember the last time i actually laughed while reading a book! it's definitely not the finest piece of literature...not even close in fact...however, its a book which made me happy.

but i would think twice before recommending the book to everyone. you see, unless you really truly knowww and love both the communities which are the subject of the book- the over exuberant punjabis, and the simple, yet stern tamilians- you probably wont enjoy it like i did. or anyone who loves both these drastically different kind of human species would.
you would have to understand what paneer and dancing at weddings means to punjabis...just like you would have to understand what rules and carnatic music mean to the tamilians. you have to truly have seen the whole लेन देन culture, just like you have to have attended early morning weddings. you have to understand what getting a good deal (in the context of marriage) means in both the communities. you have to know that a iit trained, software engineer son-in-law based in the US means to the tamil brahmin what the super rich girl with 6 petrol pumps in her family means to the punjabi. taking sides while reading *2 states* would just ruin the fun...you cant say you liked the malhotras more than the swaminathans, or that the swaminathans were cooler than the malhotras...it would just kill the soul of the book.

i am one of those lucky few (yes i consider myself that) to be a part of both these awesome, yet drastically different cultures. i understand the rules of the tamilian as well as the "ki farak penda hai" attitude of the punjabi. i relish the paneer as much as i crave for the rasam. i can dance at punjabi weddings, as well as i can (well try to) make sense of carnatic music. i love bollywood, but i love watching rajnikant movies too. we mix the punjabiness with the tamilianness in my household- at my cousin's wedding recently, amidst all the brahmin rituals, we engaged in heavy duty jhappiyan and pappiyan. we are as loud and exuberant as the punjabis, just like we're as education obsessed and rule conscious as the tamilians. we have rajma chawal and good old thayir sadam (curd rice) in the same meal. we celebrate diwali both tamilian and dilli style...i love how we celebrate rakhi (which isnt celebrated down south) with the same joy that we celebrate pongal (sankranti- a biggg celebration down south) i love how tirupati and vaishno devi are both equally special to us. to the pessimist, we may seem confused....i would say we're cool enough to take the best of both the cultures.

so yay to *2 states*- not only for being an awesome read...but also for making me think about the two states and cultures, which shape me, and which i love oh-so-much :)

which language do you think in?

my answer: i dont know.

when people ask me how many languages i know; i say "three; tamil, hindi and english".
tamil is my mother tongue, my native language. i speak tamil with my parents and my brother, my grandmother and some other relatives. but from tamil nadu standards, my tamil is, to put mildly, RUBBISH. my vocabulary is severely limited, my tamil is accented (now what accent it is, no one knows), and i dont understand typical tamil words. in fact, i never ever understand tamil songs in the first go...its almost like im listening to english songs. i cant write tamil and my tamil reading skills are a notch above those of an illiterate.

my hindi on the other hand, is quite decent, for someone who's only studied hindi till the 4th. in fact, my hindi's better than many of those, who have stayed in india all their lives. i give the credit to my love for hindi movies. my hindi's not accented (at least thats what people tell me). but my hindi reading speed is slowwww...and lets not even get started about my hindi writing.

english is perhaps the language i am best at. i can speak it well (the blabbering, fumbling and sheer incoherence can be attributed to nervousness, social phobia and anxiety), i write it well (ya ok im immodest; but it IS a talent i have), and i understand it well too!

{oh and i know a tad bit of french too. i learnt it for 5 yrs. i spoke passable french for a year. now, my knowledge of francais is limited to words i read on the back of bottles and packages}.

so i know all these languages. yeah. but i dont know what language i think in. the minute i start to think about what language i think in, i get conscious and i stop thinking about what i was thinking in the first place, and start thinking about what language i think in.

its definitely not tamil. unless im thinking about a conversation with my parents or brother. its definitely a lot of english, because its a language i feel comfortable with. it could be hindi too...but not so much. maybe 75% english and 25% hindi. or maybe 80% english, 15% hindi and 5% tamil.

i should seriously figure out which language i think in. im getting restless now.

M-u-s-i-c...and me :)

it's not like i dont like english music. over the years, putting in much effort, i have grown to like many english songs. i like the occasional "hotel california". i can develop a taste for "carnival of rust". i can fall in love with a "what if". i can be inspired by "i hope you dance". i can groove with the beats of "superstar" (after a million hearings, courtesy my roommate). i can be mesmerized by "when you say nothing at all". i can like the occasional jack johnson, and goo goo dolls (thanx to the twin's influence).

but at heart, i am so totally, unconditionally "bollywood".

i relate so much better to bollywood music. with bollywood, i dont need lyrics or multiple hearings to make sense of the song at one go. its more 'me'. i need the item numbers to pep me up when on a walk or during a journey. i need the old songs of kishore and rafi when im in a melancholic/contemplative mood. i feel like listening to lata's "satyam shivam sundaram","yeh galiyaan", "ek raadha ek meera", "aapki nazaron ne samjha" or any other old song of hers, when i feel like listening to pure unadulterated music. on one of the worst days of my life, i listened to "tu jo nahin" from woh lamhe, continuously for hours altogether. i turn to bollywood when im in a bad mood, when im in a good mood, when im blank, when im working, when im euphoric, and when im tragedy struck.

with movies its still different. i love movies in all the languages which i understand (although i am still tilted or rather leaning, towards bollywood). but with music, all my loyalties are always towards bollywood. always.