Welcoming a new year…

I’ve always said that the new year is a tad overrated. That said, a new year is an opportunity. It’s a chance that we get, year on year, to start over on a fresh page, leaving the mistakes of the previous year behind. It’s a chance to look ahead, to hope for a better future. After all, what’s life without hope?

Like everyone else, I too have a bucket list. Many elements of this list have stayed on for years, even decades now. Some have been struck off to be replaced with other things. But these are not resolutions to be broken by the end of January. These are things that change with time, with baby steps, taken one step at a time. These are little drops that will one day form an ocean.

First on my list, is to forgive myself my shortcomings a bit more easily. I am perhaps my own worst critic. There are days when I look around me and see a messy house, an unmade bed and dirty dishes and curse myself for being worthless, constantly telling myself that I’m no match for others who manage to keep a spotless house. This year, I’d like to be a little kinder to myself and try not to feel inadequate all the time. 

The next on my list is to take some time off for myself every week. To start doing what I love to do: write. To spend time with my thoughts and words, because they’re important to me. 

And finally, to tolerate crap a little less. To speak my mind without being rude. To be strong without appearing insulting. This is perhaps the most difficult of my tasks. But I’d like to try. 

What’s on your bucket list?

A maelstrom of emotions

I’ve been struggling to verbalise what I feel since my city started sinking on the 1st of December. It’s taken me 13 days to finally sit down and attempt to put these thoughts into words. Forgive me if I’m not entirely coherent, for these past days have been extraordinary in more ways than one.

The first day of December will remain forever etched in my mind. Only a stroke of incredibly good luck got me out of office and back to my parents’ home that evening. Things were still looking manageable when I got home around 6 that evening. Little did I know that the next three days would be a roller coaster of emotions. Little did I realise that this city that I so love would sink in ways that none of us ever imagined it would. Even when the power went off at 8 that night, I only grumbled a bit about the inconvenience caused, never realising that parts of my city were already under water. Only later that evening when I started seeing tweets about people stranded on their way home did I realise that this wasn’t going to end just yet. I remember being amazed at the generosity of common people like you and me, who threw their homes open to complete strangers stranded in the rains, offering them food, wifi and a place to sleep. I didn’t know then that this was only the beginning.

For the next three days, cut off from the rest of the world, with no power or network, I didn’t quite know what was happening. The road before the house was waist deep in water. Inner roads were flooded till the neck. Back home, I managed to ascertain that S and the FIL were fine but had no power or network either. I heard from friends, neighbours and well-wishers that Nanganallur was fine and with very little flooding. I heaved a sigh of relief. I got my parents out to the safety of my aunt’s house and we all treated it like a quirk of fate that brought the family together under a single roof after all these years. Even when my cousin called on the evening of Wednesday in panic asking if we needed to be rescued, we put it down to unnecessary panic. We didn’t know that people were indeed being rescued by helicopters in many parts of the city.

It’s only when I got reconnected to the Internet on Friday afternoon did I come to realise the magnitude of the tragedy. I was seeing tweets for help, cries of distress, common citizens rally together to hold afloat a sinking city. And by then, the worst was already over. As I progressively got back to civilisation, I was struck. Struck by random strangers answering calls for help. People in other cities reaching out to volunteers and the rescue forces on the ground to provide information. I saw common people come together and cook meals for the displaced. I saw places of worship throw their doors open to everyone and shelter them for the days to come. What I saw filled my heart with an unspeakable gratitude for the goodness innate in people. I personally sent out an appeal for rescue of a trapped friend that was retweeted and shared about 100 times. It warms my heart that help reached less than three hours after the first appeal went out on Twitter. Used as I am to seeing bitterness and rancour, outrage and politics, I was surprised that my Twitter feed was almost entirely filled with tweets asking for or offering help. That is still the case, 13 days after the tragedy. I see people still tweet about rehabilitation, relief, clean-up and the like.

Born and raised in Chennai, I always associated my hometown with a distinct lack of respect for the other. Friends hailing from places like Coimbatore, including and especially S, have never failed to point out that Chennaiites lack basic manners. But in the aftermath of the floods, I realise that a sea of humanity still exists in this city. Ten years later, the death toll and the flooding will become a statistic, but those who helped me, my family and friends will forever remain etched in my memory. I may not remember the day the roads of my city turned into an ocean, but I will always remember random strangers who offered help unsolicited, asked after my well-being, and ensured my family and friends were safe.

Maybe it required a wall of water to turn this selfish, disrespecting mass of people into something we are all proud of. They say disaster brings out the worst in people. But, for me, this disaster has indeed brought out the best of Chennai. May you always remain this way, my beloved city.

Some introspection…and a revelation

Today was an important day. Actually, today was a wake up call. It struck me like a thunderbolt. A basic truth about myself that I didn’t quite know or acknowledge.

Earlier today, I was at a social event that I wasn’t quite comfortable in. Among the many people, all happy and cheerful, I felt quite out of place. I’ve said it before. While I consider myself quite social, I also like being left to myself.

I’ve always considered myself an extrovert. But many things have happened over the past year that have made me rethink my own character. In this past year, I discovered that I actually like my own company. That I prefer spending time by myself. After these experiences, I decided to reclassify myself as a selective extrovert. But today was a whole new story.

I wasn’t even selectively extroverted. I found myself wishing that I could just get home and curl up in my bed with a book in hand. Or curl up against S and have a quiet conversation. Or anything. Anything apart from being within this mass of people I barely know. This feeling surprised even me. I wasn’t quite expecting to feel this way, given that I was quite enthusiastic about going there in the first place.

I realised within that crowd of dancing people that I’m in reality intensely private. That I can count my close friends on the fingers of one hand. Actually, I don’t even have to count. I just know. If I’m left alone with just family and close friends, I’ll probably be at my happiest.

To me, this realisation has come pretty late in life. I’ve actively sought company in the past and become part of a larger circle of people. I’ve gone out of my way to ensure I’m always surrounded by people. 

What was it about today that made me realise something so diametrically opposed to what I thought my character was? Is this what we call growing up?

Of life, online and offline…

I’ve had an online presence for nine years now. Starting with a very public blog in 2006, I’ve come a long way. I’ve published under my own name, then chosen to go anonymous. Each of these has been a learning experience.

I’ve been on Twitter for over six years now. Both on my blog, and on Twitter, I’ve had interesting discussions, gained valuable insights and met wonderful people. I’ve been criticised, trolled, threatened with murder and rape. But I’ve also been encouraged and supported by people who barely know me but stand by my right to have an opinion. For that, I’m grateful.

I’m not a very social person. I like to think of myself as a selective extrovert. I have many friends but few close ones. I’m circumspect about what I say and careful about who I allow into my life. But, once or twice, strangers have broken that barrier. They’ve stormed their way into my life and made me question it.

In all these years, I’ve met just two of these online friends in real life. It’s been the right choice to make. I won’t ever regret meeting them and allowing them into an otherwise private life. They’ve taught me valuable lessons. They’ve taught me that you can make great friends, irrespective of age and distance. They taught me see life differently. For that I’m grateful.

As I continue this journey, I can only hope that many more such people come into my life. After all, isn’t that what life’s all about?

The problem with body image

I realised this very late in life. Love your own body and you’ll be a happier person. Growing up in a normal, middle class family in Chennai, I always had body image issues. I hated the way I looked. Too dark, too fat, too clumsy and too much of a slob. This was what I was always told by friends and family. Cousins made it worse by telling me that fair is beautiful, which I was admittedly not.
At 14, I discovered the secret world of crushes and boys. And what did I find? That I could never peacefully have a crush on someone without being relentlessly teased. Sometimes the teasing was baseless. About a crush that was actually non existent. Since then, I’ve always been circumspect. Losing two close male friends to such juvenile teasing did not help. Especially not when one of them told me upfront that he did not want to be my friend because being teased with a fat slob troubled him. Maybe this is why I don’t quite keep in touch with school friends any more. They are reminders of an unpleasant time in my life I’d much rather forget.
But, coming back to body image. I always thought I was too dark and too fat to be beautiful. The obsession with being fair goes a long way back. I was advised not to venture out in the sun, to use sunscreen and haldi and all sorts of assorted creams and lot . The rebel that I was, I still did exactly as I pleased.
Then came the obsession with weight loss. I starved myself, skipped breakfast, ate fruit. But no matter what I did, I could never slim down to the size I wanted to be. I was conscious of my weight and tried to cover up the layers in clothes that are better called pillowcases.
As I hit my late teens there was an additional problem. Blemishes and body hair. There was nothing I could do about it. So I did what I knew best. Cover up rather than flaunt. This reluctance to dress my age continued right through college and university.
And then something changed. I went to France for my masters. Suddenly, I discovered a world of possibilities. I discovered that women were proud of their bodies and flaunted them. I discovered that for a woman to be beautiful, she must first love herself. I saw women who were twice my size carry off short skirts and dresses with an elegance that I could only hope to match some day.
Gradually,I told myself I was beautiful. I convinced myself that weight, complexion and body hair notwithstanding, I had the right to flaunt. If I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, nobody else was going to.
And there has been no looking back. With every passing year, I find myself dressing bolder and bolder. I find myself picking out clothes when shopping that I wouldn’t have dared look at when I was 14. Crossing 30 was an important moment because at that moment, I realised I no longer cared when men thought of me. I realised that I only cared what I thought of myself.
Now, I realise that all it took for others to find me attractive was the courage to accept my own body for what it is. That acceptance is never easy to get. But it’s essential for me to be happy with who I am. The other day, someone told me that very few people can look elegant with no makeup on and I am one of them. I acknowledged that with a quiet sense of pride in who I have become.
When I look back at my teenage years, I tell myself that I will never let this happen to anyone else if I can help it. Maybe this is why I felt the need to write this blogpost.
Beauty is the way you treat yourself rather than in the colour of your skin or in the inches around your waist. If you love yourself, everyone else will love you as well.


It’s been more than 10 days since I left home. And I’ll be back in an hour from now. This time, it’s with mixed feelings that I return. On the one hand I wish this trip could have been longer. I wish I could gain invaluable international experience by working outside India for a few years. On the other, it’s a quiet determination to bring the situation under my control.

I realise that I’ve spent a lot of time regretting what could have been in the past year. That realisation was hard to come by. It hasn’t been easy to accept that perhaps I was not entirely right. Perhaps I was too caught up in the circumstances to examine and act on things that I could indeed control.

At the end of this realisation is to make things better starting now. A first step is refuse to accept being a victim. Yes. I realise now that sometimes it is indeed as easy as that. Nobody can make you miserable if you refuse to be. And I refuse to be a victim of circumstances.

At some point in my life I might have to make difficult choices but today is not it. Today, I just need to decide to be happy. I need to change the things I can and accept the things I cannot. There will always be things in life we do not like.

This has been a voyage of self discovery. A voyage of knowing my own needs and desires. A voyage of enlightenment. And for that, I am grateful.

Leaving Prague

It was a wonderful three days in Prague. I haven’t seen all that I wanted to, but I come away feeling there is so much of history to discover in this charming little city of Central Europe.

Sitting in this flight that takes me to Paris, I feel the same sense of elation that I did when I left Chennai. The sense of going home to a place to you love and enjoy. Paris really does that to me. And I’d like nothing more than to go back and live there sometime again.

This trip has helped me clear my mind a little bit and redefine my priorities. I’ve made a bucket list of things I would like to accomplish in the coming years. Nothing really fancy. Just take care of my health and be happy. Shouldn’t be difficult I reckon!

Another thing I’ve realised is that I need a physical space of my own in which I can be happy, regain my composure and clear my mind. Having this space helps me think and makes me write more. And write better if I may say so myself.

My ideal home would probably have a comfortable couch with a reading nook and a fireplace (or air-conditioning considering I live in Chennai) where I can curl up and read after a long day of work.

I probably just need to work towards creating this space for me in order to be truly happy. I don’t know.

But, as a writer, I feel like this trip has helped me rediscover myself. I feel like I’ve regained what I thought was permanently lost: my ability to articulate feelings and emotions. I also realise that I probably just need to start writing again and stop looking over my shoulder and wondering who’s reading the blogposts. I probably will. Because the writer in me in an inseparable part of my soul. To lose that would be to sell my soul to the devil. And my soul is far too precious to lose.

A day with art…

A dreary and raining day once again. Prague seems to conspire against me in my quest for sightseeing.

But, I decide that there is no point in coming all the way to Prague and sitting at home, however cozy and inviting it may seem.

First stop: National Gallery. Three exhibitions. Starting with Neoclassicism in the Salm Palace.

This is so quiet. With so few tourists. Stark contrast to the galleries in Rome and Florence.

Discovering the works of one LudvĂ­k Kohl. A proliferation of greys. Neoclassical painting. Captivating. I wonder why I’ve never heard of him before.

Still life paintings seem quite taken with the idea of lizards. But why?

There is something powerfully attractive about nocturnal landscapes. Perhaps it’s the mystery, or the use of colour, or perhaps it’s simply because the night seduces.

Lake in the Mountains by Charlotta Piepenhagenova. Breathtakingly beautiful in its use of light.

It’s only after someone mentioned it that I am beginning to see the several shades of grey in painting. Grey indeed is beautiful. I had always assumed that landscapes had more green.

Second stop: Schwarzenberg Palace: Baroque in Bohemia. Fascinating experience mainly because Baroque is a very important period in the history of the Czech lands. Not that I understand Baroque very well apart from the fact the themes are Christian. I did notice two portraits of a penitent Mary Magdalene though. Quite in contrast with Catholic art where she is a companion of Christ.

Final stop: Sternberg Palace: European painting from over 300 years. The great masters. Interesting study of Rembrandt’s “A scholar in his study”. It’s fascinating how paintings are studied under infrared, ultraviolet and X-ray lighting. Must do some further research.

Fascinating. That’s the only word I have for these art galleries. Makes me wish my creativity extended beyond the verbal. But I’m so bad at using my hands that I will probably not be able to fashion a single tea cup or draw a straight line. The sooner I accept this limitation, the better.

Random thought: Human anatomy is notoriously difficult to master. If the great masters were such great fans of nude paintings, there must be something powerfully attractive about the female form to an artist.

The Prague castle

Dragged myself out of a very warm and welcoming bed to go see the Prague castle. It’s raining. And six degrees. Not very motivating for someone from a place where the Mercury rarely dips below 30.

Boards with explanations must be bilingual. This way, we’re not obliged to buy pointless audio guides.

The Czech Republic has an interesting history. Protestant initially, the influenced by the Jesuits and progressively Catholic, a lot of people today identify themselves as atheist. With the Habsburgs, the Czech lands have been under foreign rule from 1526 until the end of the First World War. Must look this up more in detail. I’ve never really paid attention to the history or Central and Eastern Europe. It seems terribly interesting.

There is something very powerful about the inside of churches and cathedrals. The St. Vitus Cathedral is no exception. Part of the Prague castle complex, you need to pay to see all parts of it. Even then, the Royal Crypt and some underground chambers where closed when I was there.

The old royal palace is a large stone castle with multiple rooms, passageways and paths. Interesting. No photos are allowed inside though.

The St. George Basilica is a simple structure. A central nave with with an alter and some chapels. A crypt downstairs is shut but seems interesting to explore.

The castle alone took me close to five hours to explore. If you want to see Prague well, take at least three full days. Tomorrow is a day if museum visits. So until then, so long!

PS: “A young girl was dating an Italian and Italians are known to be very potent.” I overheard this at the St George’s Basilica! What actually happened? So apparently, that particular Italian was not potent but possessive. He suspected his lover of being unfaithful and killed her!

Prague – First impressions

Prague is a living picture post card. Medieval, beautiful. First impressions are fabulous.

I seem to have arrived in Prague on a most interesting day. Demonstrations, freedom festival, celebrations. Feels like I’m in a carnival of some sort. Except that it’s cold.

Still getting used to a currency other than the euro. Not easy. And I have trouble identifying the coins.

Apparently the Czech Koruna does not have a cent equivalent. Everything is in whole numbers. That’s one thing I find quite unusual.