Some updates.

If you have been following this blog since I began writing here, then you probably have read this.

This was when I had a major crush and my friends knew about it and blah blah blah. Back then I wondered if  I would ever get over it. Some people even said, it will always leave a pang in your heart.

But glad to report I found out it doesn’t. From one li’l bird to another li’l bird to another and so on, I came to know the guy is in a very committed relationship, i.e. married. For a second, I wanted to feel what heart-break felt like. I waited, and then waited some more. Nope, nothing. not even a small prick. So much for all that writing. Then I realised that feeling nothing was a good thing actually. And I felt happy! Immensely so, for when you thought in your naïve avatar, that a certain sort of information will get you down in the dumps, and now you actually don’t care about it, it just shows you are much more of a grown up than you estimated yourself to be. It also proves that you are so over it! Oh, I have known for ages about it, but it feels so good to have a confirmation, because you never know with this sort of thing i.e matters of the heart!

I do have to thank him, and the Gods as well for the emotion though. Had it not been for that phase, I wouldn’t have enjoyed some forms of poetry as much.

Anyway, while I was floating around in my happy bubble, my friend called and spoke to me about a few issues she was having while on an assignment abroad. Apparently there are middle-aged Indian men who are perverts everywhere! Now, she has to look for accommodation again! And so, my bubble burst a little. :( Hoping for better things in the future for her. (I think that race, caste, creed, religion doesn’t matter when it comes to such behavior, it is always condemnable. But as an Indian who has heard people talk about how Indian culture and traditions dictate treating others with honor and respect, this sort of person is worthy of  being cited as an example of how not to behave)

In other news, I have been chatting with one of my college mates whom I have been on good terms with. We were never good friends, nor were we just acquaintances – we are somewhere between. So Sid and I have been doing what perhaps should have been done a long time ago. Random words on random topics – it is a good way to get to know someone whom you can call a friend. :)

Also, one of my dear old friends, Rahul, left me hanging after hinting about a possible love story ala Bollywood style! Never ever do this anyone! It’s already brought on a headache. Rahul, if you are reading this, my head aches just thinking of the suspense. So it better be worth it. Seriously though, I wish you do have a nice little love story and your own un-poppable bubble of happiness, and may it be filled with pink glittery stuff! :) :) :)

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!!!

Thursday

“Any man can be a Father but it takes someone special to be a dad.”- Anne Geddes

 

This is for my daddy, as you have already figured out.

Everyone of us has an oldest memory. Mine is from when I was a baby. My father used to read the newspapers in the morning. He used to sit on the floor, spread the paper out in front of him and read it. And I, toddling away to glory,fascinated by what captivates my daddy, would sprawl myself on the papers. Each day, every day! I still remember how he used to pick me up and read the paper while holding me. Later when I started reading, I had my place next to him with my own little book. When I started school, I had to recite multiplication tables during this time. But never has he read the papers in peace when I am around. Even today. As my sister and I grew up, he read his papers at the table. never spread out, but properly held up. And I just had to walk by and give it a smack before going about my work.Though it has been noticed that he never does read the papers spread out on the floor or held up at the table if I am not around. And I realised that it was our very own father-daughter daily ritual.

There are a lot of men in my life – my father, my grandfathers and more than half a dozen uncles. All fathers themselves. My father and grandfathers have had the most influence in my life and I owe them a lot as well.

Saturday

This post probably will be formatted rather horribly as my laptop is in a self induced coma, and I am posting this through my phone. :|

Eight years ago, I started blogging. There is a post I wrote when I was watching the 2006 football world cup even. Sports was a topic that one of my grandfather’s was passionate about. He never missed a match or tournament. The TV or the radio was always on during a match be it football or cricket or tennis or whatever.

My other grandfather was hardly interested in sports, being more into books and philosophy and science. His house was a library, it even included a really cool typewriter for use.
These two men along with my father have been instrumental in my learning a lot in life. On one side, I grew up listening to anything from a story about a boy who wondered why the apple fell on his head, to how a man experimented with peas. Sometimes it would be a story from ancient Indian texts. On the other side, there were trips to the park and looking at monkeys, learning to climb trees, basically being out and about. My grandfathers were completely opposite, but I had the best of both while they were around.

Daddy, well he taught me by making me do things. I learnt how to fix a fuse, make shelves, gardening, cycling, driving, a lot of stuff more by doing all of them under his tutelage.

In all these years, my father has never lost his temper or his patience. He has told me “no” when I have been absolutely unreasonable, and encouraged fair trial at home for disciplinary actions.
Above all, these three men have taught me the most important lessons in life – to love and to respect. Through their own childhood adventures I learnt about what not to do, or how not to get caught at mischief. Through their life, they’ve taught me the value of diligence, perseverance, and dedication. They’ve shown through example that no matter what life throws your way, it is up to you to give up or become resilient.

Basically all through my life I have learnt that my life is what I make of it. There may be obstacles, potholes deeper than a person can stand in, troubles that engulf you whole and go on for a time – but no matter what, you make use of it, turn it into a lesson, an experience that you come back from better than you were before.

Lessons are very important in life, no matter what the source. It helps make us better people. To have such men, fathers, in our life to teach us, to help influence and shape our personalities is a blessing. More so if you are a girl. A daughter has a special place in her father’s heart – I have heard it a lot in my life. And I believe it as well, how can I not when I am treated as one of daddy’s princesses.

Wishing all the Daddies in the world, a Happy Father’s Day!

A secret smile

There you stood, with a smile on your face,
And my heart skipped a beat.
I wondered what it was, fear or anxiety,
Perhaps even some mushy feeling.
Now I know, that every time there’s a smile on your face,
My heart skips a beat just to match your own,
to have a smile its own – A secret of my heart my own
No words said, no hands held,
Yet there is a glow within.
Never wondered how or where
But now I know it’s always been there,
That warmth that you feel within
When you are the one in his life.

Movie messings

Two weeks back I was forced to go to a movie by my sister. She booked the tickets and then later in a typical younger sibling dramatic tantrum, she goaded me into it. It was the first movie I watched in the theater in more than Six years. Good God!!! I took a decision back then, after some really terrible movies that literally had me running out of the theater or falling asleep, that I was not going to pay for wasting my time and hence watched movies that were on TV. Most importantly I had the (remote) control. I could change channels or switch the damn thing off if I wanted to.

Well, the movie was “How old are you?” – a Malayalam movie that has caused enough hype for being the comeback platform for Manju Warrier; seems a little ironic that I went back to watch a comeback movie. The movie was a good one,  I didn’t leave nor did I fall asleep. It is definitely a feel good movie. There were no flying in the air stunts or insanely picturesque foreign locales as backdrops for songs –  a rather sensible movie without any beeps filling in between the dialogues. I’d say go watch it if you haven’t yet, but I figure all malayalees who have watched the actress in her earlier movies would already have done so.

As for my sister, she was rather gleeful for getting me to go with her, but the poor thing got food poisoning from KFC and spent the next few days sick. The only upside in the situation being that she got to boss me around. No matter how old we get I guess we will always be those little girls who were a team. We also realised early on that it is our god given right to annoy each other to no end.

Little sisters are truly a gift from God that I am sincerely grateful for. This post if to all the girls out there with sisters who have had a great time growing up together.

 

 

Hello Again

Changes-Ahead

Monday evening.

I am back! I have missed this space and have actually missed writing. I was wondering what to write about, since so much has been written about at Frost At Midnite. So I kept drafting and saving, again and again but failed to publish it - just didn’t seem right. Now its all gone. I write on white space – a new start.  Clean and clear.

I don’t promise to write brilliantly or everyday, or some such non attainable stuff, but I shall strive to write some random and not so random stuff and will try to do so as and when I can. Perhaps I shall write about my tooth-brushing routine or how Spanish class is coming along. Maybe even a book review. :O  Something, anything is good as long as it gets me writing.

Changes are important in life. It keeps one moving forward. Frost At Midnite was so stagnant for so long even I got bored. I came back here and realised change was necessary – not only here but in my life as well. Hence a slow and steady implementation of the changes planned will take place over time.

Frost At Midnite sports a new bright look now and has a new post today. From dark to light – so be it. :)

I am just going to take all the good luck and best wishes from readers and go forward with making myself better. I do promise to write about it as well. Hope all has been well for the past year and more with all of you.

See you around!

Untitled

Update:

I published the post and Yay!!! I guess it’s just the blog’s way of saying “Hello and welcome back!”

Almost three years not a word written.

Writer’s block, a lack of inspiration to write – if I confessed to such rubbish, it would be nothing but excuses. The truth is that there has been nothing in my heart to trigger my thoughts.

Where there was an incessant flow of thoughts and rants to let the world know that I am alive, all that remains is a rhythm – a rhythm that exists in all things with a beating heart. I know that perhaps the thinking organ is the brain but if you really think about it without your heart backing it, you would not believe in them.

All that remains is a hollow feeling. Not one of sorrow or desperation. Definitely not! All that remains is… well nothing remains where sometime back a lot was residing.

Why? In retrospect, I think it’s mostly because of trying to please a lot of people.  Young and old alike. Since the time I can remember, it’s always been the same thing – making people happy so they appreciate and accept you. Right now it perhaps seems like I am going though some kind of life crises, but truth be told, I just want to feel alive. Alive to feel contentment, to feel humor, to smile, to laugh at a joke! I have been smiling and laughing, but it has been nothing but a change in expression that suits the particular situation, the only emotion or expression that I have been honest in is to cry. Though now it seems even my tears have deserted me. The reason for my condition, for my tears, for my lack of feeling alive, I leave in the depths of my conscience. To dwell in them is futile. All I know is that I have been time and again bent to someone’s will, but I will not break. No, I shan’t break for then I shall feel like the failure that some people have always said I am.

I don’t wish for calm, for calm can sometimes be so disturbing in itself. I wish for chaos. I wish for the tiny flutterings in my heart that like a flame resided. A flame that gave me hope, joy and satisfaction for being what I am. A wild pleasure, a sunny warmth that has always been inside of me. I am going to get it back. If that means that I will have to disown those that have such insolent contempt for me, so be it. I shall not feel the cold when I have felt what it is to be warm. I shall starve no more at the cost of my own wellbeing.

Maybe all this makes absolutely no sense to you, but just know that I can. And after ages, writing has brought back a flicker of something that once used to be.

 

Holiday Home work

Some people, very few in fact have an actual glimpse of things ‘past’. The others just get to look at aging ancestors, old photographs on Facebook or Geni, or maybe read about it. Recently a young and small reader of our reading group was introduced to RK Narayan. And a few minutes later, he wanted to know what a piece of time would look like ­— ‘a timepiece was on Rajam’s desk’ the book told him. The group then began discussing about things old and maybe ancient.

The timepiece or clock as we know it, an isthri karan (iron-man Literally) with his huge push cart and  red-hot coals, some times his reserve of coals would be like a treasure ( the coals would be used to decorate anything from walls to animals) and many other things,

If you are mallu who visited mother land when young, you would have had your share of cuticura and coconut oil smelling memories of relatives and just the oil smelling mouth-watering edibles out of their kitchens. My experiences with the way of life my ancestors has were half and half —memorable and torturous. Climbing trees, rolling in the mud, giving the dogs an oil bath, watching the women folk buy fish and clean them and then play with the cats that came to feast on the remains, mango search-rescue and hog operations, jackfruit fiascos, and towards the evening when you were famished there would snack time and then a flower picking sessions for the deities in the house and all the cuticura and coconut oil loving I got are so memorable to this day :). Sometimes you just aren’t supposed to be doing any of this, like climbing trees of rolling in the mud or playing with strays, not if you are a girl and especially more if you are the lone grandchild for a good period of time.

Visiting an extremely religious, communist, socialist and severely conservative family community was so confusing that even today I’d rather not be in a room filled with relatives – the war of the words on would break out any moment. There in the corner of the room I would sit, tired from lunch, unable to move with the huge meal in my belly. Lunch would mostly be fish curry, fish fry and the big grained rice, and summer specials – mampazhapulliseri, or chakkakuru varutadu :) basically something with mango or jackfruit and I’d be happy :) All the women would make sure they have a chance to serve you. And there were a minimum of 7 of them to my recollection. Ever wondered why motherland is called god’s own country, it’s mostly because people are lazy, or maybe people of my large family are and I wouldn’t blame them after all the food and the oil baths. After lunch it would be time for the men to take the noon nap and the women to take on the gossip and I would just lay there like a piece of furniture unable to move.

After nap time it would be war-time. When the war breaks out, some of the women would be busy in the kitchen to bring out the tea and the snacks. The heavy smell of coconut oil would overload my senses. Wishing the elders would keep it down I would wait to know what it was that was cooking. With my stomach just about to burst from lunch even at 4 in the evening, a big tight hug from my grand-aunt would be enough to create room in the tummy for whatever it was that was being made in the kitchen. And the wait… was it jackfruit or banana being fried, or maybe it was something else; such tortuous ordeals daily were too much for a child.

And staying out of trouble wasn’t too much trouble. As long you had your hair long (till your shoulders was good) and visited temples often during your stay and stayed away from everything not of equal social/religious standing was good enough to get you your daily dose of the loving from the classic cuticura beauties and their lip smacking preparations.

I wonder what it would be for my youngest cousin when he grows up – will he ever have any anecdotes from his trips to mallu-land or will his vacation packages every year keep him happy while we older cousins have a total recall gig? Maybe we will just gift him some cuticura and prepare some banana chips once a while for him to sense motherland.