Missing home and myself...

The Indian Independence Day dawn is just a few hours away. And I am in a country that is not mine.

I have come here before, as a tourist. To see as many malls as I could, to eat as many previously-not-eaten-delicacies as I could, to visit as many relatives as I could – the objectives, the bent of mind, everything was typical. It felt great while it lasted.

This time, I have come to give my dad some company. He has lived in this country for three years now - alone. It means I am here for a longer period of time with boring things like looking for a job in an industry which almost does not exist in the country, thrown in. In flat one fortnight, I have begun to appreciate my country, my own country, infinitely more.

My country is not so sophisticated. The roads are not so smooth; the buildings are not so tall. But I can step out of my home and walk. To wherever I want to and even if I don’t know where to.

My country doesn’t pay as much money. With soaring house rents and real estate prices, city life is almost a battle for most middle class people. With ever-increasing food prices, sustenance is difficult for others across cities and villages. But there is always this house or that house to go to when you are hungry and not in the mood to cook.

My country is not one of plenty. There are people who don’t have it to eat one day’s meal. But when you do have it, you can have it where you please, even on the road, even during the holy month of Ramzan, without the worry of offending anyone, because acceptance comes naturally to us.

My country does not believe in autocracy or monopoly. We have more than ten telecom companies giving the consumers the best rates in the world for the sake of their existence. I can call anyone I want anytime I want without burning a hole in my pocket.

My country, with all its imperfectness, makes me feel at home.

To a country that made me what I am, thank you for the freedom you have endowed on me. Not just from the British, from all the other things that you as a country could have been and did not turn out to be. Love you India.

Back in my nest...

All over - the exams, the course, the madness. And I am home.

During the entire month of April, when my classmates were frantically going about applying for jobs, I told myself: you deserve a break, go ahead and take that, please don't enter the rat race.

And now, here I am, totally enjoying this 'doing nothing' phase, but finding it difficult to answer people's questions. Every second person I meet invariably asks: So what next? Got any job? Getting married?

I have gotten over the last part and have learnt to efficiently defer the question (or give a *proper* answer to it), but the former part is tough. I have realised over the last month that, to survive in India, you have to be 'doing' something. Read enrolled with a university, working with a company, doing a business or at least playing a wife! Otherwise, people make your life hell.

As each day passes by, I am sure my folks must be finding it difficult to answer this question as well. And for them, deferring the last part is not as easy as it might be for me. They are the ones who are responsible to get me hitched, after all! But I am sure they care more about my peace of mind than others. That part is comforting!

But otherwise, tell me why I should feel guilty about taking time off to catch up with Malayalam movies, reading a few good books and doing some freelance writing assignments? About planning to spend time with dad at a place where loneliness could make you crazy, and to do other random trips that I have always wanted to? Isn't my life, my life after all?

I know, these questions make no sense in a society like ours where everyone is more bothered about others lives than their own. But someone ought to fight it, and I like to believe that I am among the chosen ones!

Leening's Manipur, Our Manipur...

Request: Please read the whole post before you make any judgment about me. :) I love Manipur!

Leening Meetei is my classmate at University of Hyderabad. If there is one word that describes him, it's Manipur; he eats, drinks and sleeps Manipur. When a research or writing assignment is given in class, no effort needs to be taken to guess what Leening would do. It would invariably be about Manipur.

I have very often been amused by this. I am a very proud Malayali; but I do not take up Kerala for every damn thing like he does. I have often thought; why such forceful assertion?

The other day, Leening was doing rounds in the class with a signature petition. It was addressed to the President of India against the fake encounter killing that happened in Manipur recently that took the life of Chonkham Sanjit (27). My turn was over and I was casually watching him. Then, I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before - some amount of passion and a lot more of pain.

That's when I started thinking more deeply than I used to. Earlier, my thought process was something like this. 'With the very little knowledge I have of this huge issue, I know that most North Eastern states demand autonomy. Yet, there is a North East quota in my university (and probably in many other places in the country) and they are all duly filled. I mean, if you want to get separated from this country, why use the infrastructure here? That's sheer selfishness! If you want to take advantage of the facilities here, might as well stick to the sovereignty of the country!'

The pain in his eyes told me that he and I were different. I was born in a part of India that, post independence, has not witnessed a massive conflict of any sort. A place where democracy is probably at its best with everyone taking their right to life and freedom of expression for granted. I have hardly seen a person from the Armed Forces at work in the part of Kerala that I live. My perception of violence, freedom, civic sense and security is different because of this.

Leening, on the other hand, has probably spent his childhood in fear. To quote Tehelka, "Life in Manipur is like a lottery. You are alive because you are lucky." He did most of his education in Andhra Pradesh because the situation in his state was not condusive. He hasn't seen his family for months together now, because conflicts are consistent back home and travelling during our last vacation would have been dangerous. He has probably witnessed the death of a relative in the hands of people who are supposed to ensure security - the Armed Forces.

I have now realised that a comparison between him and me is futile; we are so darn different. It is because of the North East quota, that I used to detest, that Leening is being able to give wings to his dreams. It is because of his belief that change is possible in this country, despite all the atrocities that his state is witnessing, that he is still going on with that signature campaign. If he does not deserve to be a citizen of this India as comfortably as I am, with all the security that I was born with and am used to, then who else is this India for?

Many North Eastern Indians migrate to other parts of India in the hope of a better life. But is it any different for them? Armed Forces may not attack or kill without a reason, but what about civilians? They attack with detesting looks that speak on the lines of "Why the hell have you come over to our place?"

Just the other day, I was comfortably seated on an APSRTC bus. A North Eastern family comprising a young man, an almost-girl-like woman and their tiny kids got into the bus. The mother clad in a saree was a far cry from the stylish and sleek looking North Eastern girls I have seen on my campus, I thought. I noticed that people maintained a safe distance from the rough looking short man as though he was a terrorist, an intruder.

As the kids dozed off leaning to their mother's shoulder, I kept on gazing much to the discomfort of that woman. I was thinking how similar these four human beings were to any other random family in that bus. Yet, how different! It wouldn't be easy for them to get a house to live or a job to earn a living. The struggle to garner an identity was clearly visible on all the four faces. Even if they wanted to think of themselves as Indians, we the 'original Indians' would not let them do so.

Unity in Diversity is probably the most overrated myth that is taught in schools. You will grow up to learn that equality, let alone unity, is still a dream for many in this country.

Which is why I love you Debo! I love you for the fact that you are one of the few people who can think broad enough to assume a North Eastern Indian as close to you as I would assume a Malayali to me.

An Ode About Onam...

It is Thiruvonam today; an auspicious day for any Malayali, no matter what his/her religion is. A time to rejoice despite any distress you may have. A time to bond with family whichever corner of the world you may be in, otherwise. And here I am, sitting in the department computer lab, seething in emotional pain, to put it in the least dramatic way as possible!

I have not even taken bath; forget having had a sadya with payasam. On the day when a vegan feast with diverse delicacies should have graced my palate for lunch, I gobbled up a KFC Zinger burger with vengeance. Either a sadya, or nothing close to it at all, I thought. This year, I angrily put aside my own rule of ten day vegetarianism during the Atham-Thiruvonam period.

I still remember my first Onam away from home. It was in 2006, soon after I joined Google. Having joined just in May, August came too soon and with all the training that was happening, it seemed rational not to take leaves. I did not give much thought to it as it seemed natural to miss a festival or two. I was officially 'out of home' and 'on my own,' right?

WRONG! The day dawned and I started off with a marathon on the telephone all smiles and ended up weeping like a lost child. I wished most of my realtives in the process and vouched to each of them that it was terrible to be doing so over telephone. Having heard stories of an Onasadya that had happened in the previous year at Google office, I expected the lunch of the day to wipe off my copious tears. To my utter dismay, the caterers had changed and the new guys did not know about the festival! I ate rice and porial and tried to satiate myself in vain. I still cannot manage to put together the pieces of a broken me of that day. I hadn't realised until then that I was so emotionally dependent on my family and promised myself that another Onam shall not pass by this way, without them being beside me.

I kept that promise and dutifully went home in the two subsequent years. First, while I was still with Google, and the second, after I joined UoH. I hate bunking classes normally; but Onam was a good enough reason to do so for a week. But this year, since a plan was on to celebrate Achan's shashtipoorthi in the last week of September, I had to make a compromise. Missing two weeks of classes in the same month could cause some trouble while registering for the end semester examinations. Thus, at the altar of educational insurgency, I sacrificed my need to be home.

I was thinking a while ago that it is just another day in Hyderabad. It is a regular working day, with not much buzz about Onam apart from the mad rush at Kairali restaurant situated at about 2km distance. Still, the day is so different for me. In the heart of heart, I keep reminded that everyone is celebrating back home and making merry. It is scary to think whether they are missing me or not. What if they are not? What if I am not that indispensable?

Worse still, unlike in 2006, I cannot even make a promise to myself that I would be home next year for Onam. I just don't know what I'd be doing next year, around this time!

It is funny how Onam is no more just a festival for me. With an assorted collection of memories that include tidbits of sleepless shoots during my Kairali TV days and impromptu trips with cousins and elders to touristy locations associated with it, Onam has become a habitual indulgence for me. One that makes me sulk, if I don't abide to it. Sad that I did not indulge this time; but only to reinvent my ties with my roots..

Happy Onam to all of you!

A Facebook Message and the Memories it brought..

A message that came to me on Facebook this morning made me look behind - the paths of life that I crossed and reached where I am right now. That message was from Santoshettan, more familiar to Malayalis as Santosh Palee or Palee.

An eighteen year old with bright dreams of being in the limelight - that was me in a nutshell in 2003. It was also the time when Palee was reigning many a Malayali heart including mine with a program called Kairali On Demand. One of the many things I did to realize my dream was writing long letters to him with program ideas in the hope that he would just pick me to anchor them!

One day, that much awaited call came as well - to give a screen test. For me, hearing his voice across the line was an achievement in itself. He was an icon of sorts who encapsulated the ultimate media dream for me - someone who had to come on screen from behind by sheer coincidence and stayed on gloriously. The screen test was truly just a bonus.

I cannot imagine the nervousness I experienced that day. Probably, something I have never ever felt before or after, in my life - in that measure. I vividly remember his lady love being in the studio for the shoot of a program called Weekender. Of course, I did not know at that point that there was a love story going on. ;)

The screen test was totally uneventful. I was asked to perform an introduction for the program Mail A Scene. The otherwise ultra talkative, oversmart me just shrinked into a coy little thing with a puppy face in the great producer's presence. Needless to say, my performance was nowhere close to what I could have done and I don't even think he gave it a thought whether to take me aboard or not.

I thought, there goes my future in my dream channel into the dustbin with a silly piece of script I made.

I moved on, appeared for a screen test at Indiavision and did much much better this time. May be, because I cared much less if I would get through or not. And of course, Santoshettan was not there to distract!

I made it and I faced the camera for the first time for a programme there. Destiny had other plans though. Eleven months down the lane, I sensed another opportunity at Kairali with another producer. I wrote to him about my experience at Indiavision and I was on!

It indeed was a dream come true. Kairali had the most creative graphics team of all Malayalam channels at that point and my imagination knew no bounds about the riot of colours I would have for accompaniment on screen. Yet, somewhere inside, the sense of loss lingered that I did not become an anchor for a Palee programme.

Kairali became home to me soon. I bumped into him very frequently in the studio, yet continued to be star struck each time it happened. My producer was a good friend of Palee, so there was no dearth of insider news about Palee's life - professional and personal. In that way, I was in a much better place than most of his fans, even though I did not realize the anchor dream.

Life goes on. So did mine. I relocated to Hyderabad, much away from my media dreams, doing totally different things. Malayalam Television soon became a thing of past to me, something that I do not have access to even when I go back home, thanks to Kunjunni's addiction to Pogo.

But then, there is Facebook and orkut. Many lost media connections got revived especially on FB. Among them are Santoshettan of course and also Aroonz (Arun P G), a great graphics artist who did some of the most fantastic backdrops for me at Kairali. He is ready with his first movie work - Puthiya Mukham. Wish you the best, buddy!

Coming back to our hero, let me share the message he sent that made me take this walk down the memory lane - unabridged!

Two days before me and sree konny wr sitting tgthr for chilling.. ,me confessed to him that I cudnt recognised your talent at that time, or conveniently forgottn to uplift your softskills,due to the lack of a good prgrm which suits to your persona..I mean it..

Today I am really feelin proud bout you.. while walking thru d corridors of memories I can recollect those wonderful letters you wrote to me with poetic touches. "Ardramaanasam"... I used to call u like that... nywayz.. go ahead babes... my heartfelt best wishes to you....

When people say some dreams should reamain unfulfilled so that we feel the need to keep going, I usually disagree. Realising dreams is an extremely important thing for me. I think I just changed my mind. May be, some things should remain unachieved. God can keep watching, and based on your track record, can gift bigger and better blessings. Like the one I got today. :)

PS : Just in case you have not noticed, the name that Santoshettan gave me - I adopted it for life. My Internet persona Ardramaanasam owes someone a lot, you see! :)

The Loss of a Legend. Lohithadas.

Film personalities are like fireflies. They light up the lives of many, and then fade into oblivion. Hardly do cinegoers ponder over their deaths or disappearances for more than a day. But this time around, it is just so different. Forget the cliche that 'He was a pillar of the Malayalam film industry' and all that. Just recall his films, and you will know what I mean.

Thaniyavarthanam, Kireedom, His Highness Abdullah, Bharatham, Amaram, Kamaladalam, Vatsalyam, Thoovalkkottaram..

The power of his pen was such that right from the first film he wrote, the industry knew that here was a man to be reckoned with. Thaniyavarthanam, his first screenplay filmed by Sibi Malayil is still a seething wound in the minds of Malayalis. This team went on to make more cinema that crushed our hearts and left us shattered. Those melodramas changed the way we experienced cinema until then.

Thanks to the justice Lohi always showed to his characters, some of the most memorable performances of our superstars, without which they would have hardly attained the stature they have today, came through his films. Mohanlal won his first national award through Bharatham penned by Lohi. However, my personal favourite of Lal-Lohi combination is Nandagopan from Kamaladalam.

Mind you, it is not just the superstars who were blessed by his pen. Nedumudi Venu in His Highness Abdullah, KPAC Lalitha in Amaram, Thilakan in Veendum Chila Veettukaryangal, Bindu Panicker in Joker, Oduvil Unnikrishnan in Thoovalkkottaram are all fine examples that Lohi's characters, even if they are not the protagonists, are always well-etched and give a lot of scope to the actors. Another character that comes to my mind right now is the Muthachhan from Thoovalkkottaram played by Babu Swamy. I am incapable to think of another screenwriter who could have made such an inconsequential character look so important.

A few months before his untimely death, Lohi had opined that Malayalam cinema lacked a new generation of actors, and the existing ones are too old and overused. As much as he was a man of perfect words, he was also a man of action. When he turned a director, this is why he took the effort to find new faces who suited his characters than write stories for the establised actors who have minimum guarantee. Lakshmi Gopalaswami, Manya, Meera Jasmine, Bhama, Vinu Mohan - so many of them in that list apart from Manju Warrier and Samyuktha Varma who also got introduced through his screenplays.

Somehow, I am in awe for Lohi, the screenplay writer more than Lohi, the director. When he debuted as a director with Bhoothakkannadi, it seemed the most natural thing to do for a creatively mature writer. However, none of his directorial ventures struck a chord with the audience as much as his screenplays directed by Sibi, Bharathan or Satyan Anthikkad. And before he could prove this observation wrong, he left the silver screen forever, much like most of his films - leaving behind a lingering pain.

Any Malayali who has witnessed the late 80s and 90s of Malayalam cinema will know that his talent was of a different leagure altogether - one that can never be replaced with. And yet, this country never attested it with a National award. May be, the juries knew that this man never cared about anything except creating ripples with human emotions.

I am so glad my first dose of memorable films came from him. For all those unwritten screen poems by Lohi that left with him - Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.

Image Courtesy : nishusworld.blogspot.com

The Monsoon has come, so have I!

The other day, one of my cousins was ruthless enough to tell me that he has totally forgotten me. Apparently, the only way he used to remember me was through my posts. Now that the profile is full of dust, I have been reduced to a dusty corner of his memory as well. That's when I realized, I should change the equations!

So here I am, back to the grind. I won't even get to the usual explanation and excuse grind. Three months lost are three months lost. Gone with the wind and the rain too!

Rain! Oh yes, I am at home, the land of letters, latex and lakes enjoying my summer break. Sharada sent me an SMS yesterday calling me a 'lucky one' for being from the land where monsoon originates! I was flattered. Truly, monsoon is monsoon only when it happens in Kerala. It is so effervescent and so omnipresent! Travel from Parassala to Parassinikkadavu on a rainy day and chances are, your car will be rainwashed throughout.

Coming to the monsoon this time, weather experts 'predicted' three days back that monsoon will arrive in Kerala in a week's time. And lo! The rains really had to prove them wrong. It arrived bang on the very next day. Those experts must be sheepishly smiling now, right?

The nature around has suddenly taken a different hue of green. A very dark shade that makes you want to go deep into it and explore the secrets and the stories behind. The brown of dust has gone into oblivion and this mysterious green has completely taken over. Oh, there is a famous smell that people talk about when rains first hit the earth, right? I could not sense it at all mainly because the very first downpour was, well, indeed a heavy downpour! I guess that smell (famously called puthumanninte manam in Malayalam) just melted away in the water. Anyone knows what this smell is called in English? Most times, my vocabulary is just not enough to talk about my God's own country. ;)

A friend of mine is a fan of long drives on rainy days. He keeps telling me how he loves the left-right movement of wipers as the car tries to evade the rain and rush fast. The screech like sound of rubber against glass 'exhilarates' him in his words! I could never fathom his energy as he voiced his wiper mania. But yesterday, I got a taste of the thrill. As I drove after a second show from Kottayam town to my home in Arpookara, I realized that it was the first time I was driving in such torrential rain. Add to it the tension of driving through an almost invisible road in darkness, I was quite on my toes. Plus there is dad by the side nerving me consistently saying “Slow Down” even at 40 kmph.

Nevertheless, it was truly an 'exhilarating' experience. Water is an amazing thing, you see. Even if your skin cannot feel it, it cools you from within. The gush sound, the translucency.. I can feel it as I write about it. It is that magical! When it comes directly from the heavens, in its purest form, it is all the more beautiful. Almost breath-taking.

The feeling of being in a cozy enclosure with an air conditioned breeze to add to the comfort and witnessing the most energetic flow of water right in front of you – I think that's what adds the exhilaration element to drives on a rainy day! Think about it. Just hundred centimeters away, there is a world of water out there waiting to rush in and drench you. It holds a huge suspense within– what if the front glass just breaks off right now? Now, I do think it is a phenomenal space to be in.

But right now, I am in a different air conditioned enclosure which is not so exciting - Manorama Online's office in the Manorama building on K K Road. More from this space, later. :)

Home is where thou hearth is!

Statutory Warning : This post is very long. As much close to my heart as well.

Most of us would agree that 'home' is not just a word or a concept. It is a world in itself. My version is that it rests in the security of our hearts with gallons of emotions compressed inside. I have stayed away from my home for the past six years. It has been a life changing time for me.

When I first moved out to join my college hostel in 2003, I had not foreseen this change. In fact, I never thought about it deeply enough. It was a natural transition - something that everyone of my age went through. Although I was lull that I had to relocate, I had no regret as it was my decision to study in another city when my city of letters (lakes and latex too) did have a lot of options. It took me some time to realise though that I am not in the best place considering the monster of a warden I had. To add to the complications, she was my teacher too.

Okay, let me tell you that I am a good ‘people’s person.’ I have this gift of getting people to like me if I want them to. Teachers definitely fall into that category of ‘people whom I want to like me.’ My boy classmates from school always used to pull my leg mentioning my ability to lather teachers up. But this one was a tough cookie. I realised that people don’t cook up stories about ladies hostel wardens when they say they are frustrated souls. She created lots of problems for me including not letting me go home on weekends when all others went. She even accused that a majority of blank calls that the hostel received actually targeted me (I now see it as a compliment though). There are very few people, in fact, only one person that I have held grudge for a long time. She is that person. In a nutshell, my first experience out of home was very discouraging.

My second year in college passed off in transit as I was constantly travelling Kottayam-Kochi-Thiruvananthapuram for various activities that included studying and compeering. Though I was officially stationed at home during this year, I never actually lived there. This was also the year when I realised that travelling alone helps you mature much faster than anything else. You learn to juggle between different modes of public transport. You become an expert in crisis management as you learn to deal with late trains and buses that do not wait. You realise the worth of every penny when auto drivers ask for exorbitant amounts to drop you from South railway station to your college that is a kilometre away. You deal with so many different kinds of people. Your alertness levels go high as you protect yourself from hands and god-knows-what-all that are waiting to grope, press, feel etc. Your respect for the range of womanhood increases as you watch your co-travellers multi-task by fighting, talking and cutting vegetables – all inside the comfort/crowd of a ladies bogie in a train. It did not take me long to become a fan of the Indian Railways for the amazing social service they did of which I definitely was a beneficiary.

In my third year, I joined the YWCA in Kochi which gave me my first taste of freedom and independence. There were friends who wanted to run away from the college hostel although they had less lethal experiences in comparison with me. So we were a perfect group at a perfect place. The curphew time of 6pm did not seem restrictive in a city like Kochi in those days, especially since we were all single girls with no immoral intentions. :D

YWCA days gave us the opportunity to walk the streets without having to worry about getting back somewhere when we did not want to; to bunk classes once in a while and catch the first day first show of much awaited Hindi movies in Sridar theatre; to roam around Convent Junction checking out the latest accessories and cosmetics in the endless ladies stores; to go window shopping through scores of shops in MG Road; to eat chaat as much as we wanted in Venkatesha chaat shop near the hostel; to gaze, stare and watch everything on road while walking to and fro from college. It was fun.

My next phase of life was destined to be in a farther place compared to Kochi. Hyderabad was never ever an option for me for anything. But then, man proposes and God.. yes you know what. My parents found me a ‘home’ at a family friend’s place. My colleague from Google was with me as well. Chechi was really sweet to both of us. But due to unavoidable circumstances, we had to move out after three months. I was literally homeless and in tears. I remember that it is one of those few times in my life, when I was on phone with Achan and Amma and started crying without realising it. 'Home,' at that point, was a distant dream at the other end of the phone. But then, as always, God helped me find the right place to move into. And how right it was!

Jeevan Jyothi Institute in Begumpet run by nuns has hostel accommodation, a retreat centre, etc. That became my 'home' for the next two years. I found new friends who fell into a wide range of age. There was a warden there as well, but with far less consequences. She was a harmless little thing who used to talk a lot. We never bothered about what she said and used to live life the way we wanted. J This is when I got my first taste of curphew-free living. In a city like Hyderabad, where there are far more things to do in comparison to Kochi, we utilised this freedom optimally. Late nights were mostly for movies and almost never for parties; unless there was one organised by Google, in which case transport was taken care of.

Jeevan Jyothi witnessed me blooming into a working woman. My apprehensions of being alone in any place at any point of time, my fears of strangers staring at me, my inhibitions of going shopping alone, my unfamiliarity with solitary and silent thinking – everything vanished. More importantly, by the end of two years, I felt ‘at home’ almost always at this place. This means that I missed my home where my family lived far less than before. I could feel the goodness of going home when a day of work ended at the pleasant workplace of mine. I realized the depth of this feeling only when I had to uproot myself to move into my new abode in Hyderabad.

Resignation from Google which was another kind of home considering I spent up to 14 hours a day there; having to move to virtually a corner of the city from the heart of the city; distance from my dear ones – it was a tough time when I first moved into my campus hostel in Gachibowli. In the first month, I used to often wonder – God, where am I? What am I doing here?

But then, everything changed very soon. Great friends came my way, the complacence and calmness of the campus kicked in and lo! As I am writing this, I am feeling ‘at home’ yet again. Gachibowli is far away from the city. But there is MMTS (metro rail) that gives me connectivity to all the places in the city that are important to me. APSRTC buses are common too. Basically, considering I am a public transport-addicted person, there is enough reason for me to be contented on the connectivity issue. Also, I appreciate weekends much more now. That’s the only time I get out as the university is very much self sufficient with eateries, ATM and movie screenings.

One thing I noticed is that the process of feeling at home was much faster here. Kochi, Begumpet – all these places commanded more time. I am assuming that I have grown as a person to someone who is used to changes, now that I have seen quite some. I wonder how I will deal with my relocation from here. It is going to be a big one and painful too. There are still 15 months roughly left.

Having told you about all the different places where I felt at home and otherwise, a climax about my real home would be ideal, I guess. There are still moments when I long to get back to a period when I leave ‘home’ every morning with iddli/dosa packed in my tiffin box amidst the din of Achan and Amma getting ready to leave for their work. May be, that will never happen. In fact, I doubt if I will ever live there for a longer period than a couple of months. I see work and marriage ahead which necessarily might not be based out of Kottayam.

But does this mean that my home is no more mine? Definitely not. That’s the reason why I mentioned in the beginning that home rests in our hearts. My greatest strength, I realise as I end this post, is my ability to cuddle into that nest of security even when I am miles away from it.

Some rattlings...

Sometimes, things happen not for a reason. My hiatus from blogging is such a thing. Yes, I know that it is a very philosophical way of explaining laziness.

While I am extremely sorry that almost two months slipped off through my fingers without any output, there were exciting things that kept me occupied. May be they have made my thinking/thought process clearer. May be, this will help me write better in future.

One of my goals when I decided I am going to be a part of the IFFK this year was to write reviews for the bad and good films I watch; to make a diary of them and present before you. Clearly, none of that has happened. Mainly because watching five films back to back for seven days continuously was in itself a task. Analyzing them at the end of the day just did not happen. However, I am trying to put together a briefing of sorts which will remain a memoir of the film extravaganza that I attended.

Since Sharada was around, my family went for a Kumarakom trip with her. We have been there before; but this one was special because all of us were together after a long time. A close friend from school got married on the Christmas day. To attend that, I cancelled a family Bangalore trip. I don’t regret it at all as the delight of Liya’s expression when she saw me compensates for it. I was her only friend who attended the wedding.

School friends are always so special. They see you grow through those transforming stages of life. They are the friends who you have for the longest time. They know your families and vice versa much better because school friendships are monitored and approved by parents more. You have shared tiffin boxes. You have fought for silly things and then forgotten about them the next day. You have grown up together to be what you are. I was extremely emotional to see Liya get married. For many many more reasons. It is the next stage of her life and I so wish she be the happiest ever married girl. She deserves it. As I write this, she is in her flight to Sydney with Micheal.

Much more has happened in the new year. A new semester has begun. I am back at the university missing all the family time I had in Kerala. Soon, I will slip into a mode where home is at the other end of phone calls; just that.

Our courses this semester are far more ‘serious’ than last semester. At least, they sound so.

• Media Laws and Ethics
  
• Communication and Social Change
  
• Introduction to Advertising and PR
  
• Print and Web Production
  

The last course is the one that I am looking forward to. I hope that it will help improve my status of a tech-ignorant person. More importantly, I will learn to deal with softwares that enable me to make my blog look better.

The post has been long. Sandhya chechi, thanks for letting me know in the meanwhile that you were missing me. This one is for you!

Memoir of a Month..

This one is tough due to the sheer length of the time period involved. I haven’t been posting here for a month and it was not due to the lack of inspiration that happens to most bloggers once in a while.

As I had told you all, it was exam season. But then, that got over on 26^th December. What was I doing after that? Precisely, movie watching for about four days and little bit of packing to complement it. On December 1^st, I started my long awaited journey back home. To Kerala, God’s own country.

How true that punchline is! The way greenery ushers in a fresh leash of air on to your heart and soul as Sabari Express crosses Tamil Nadu border and enters Palakkad cannot be described.

But it is not just that.  Humidity is a villain. I have started taking bath thrice and four times! After a couple of days at home, I packed off to the capital city, Thiruvananthapuram for a wedding fiesta. My cousin sister Dhanya got married leaving me as the next prospective bride. It is torture! People nag you without ends about how it is the right time to get married. Nobody gets the point that there is a strong requirement of a suitable state of mind to get married. It is marriage after all. Doing it when you are not ready, at the wrong time, can prove disastrous if not fatal. And I am in every other mood than to get married now! Anyway, Dhanya chechi’s wedding went superfine. As I type this, I am back at home again.

This visit is again very brief. Thiruvanathapuram beckons me with an amazing platter of films as it is the IFFK season. The International Film Festival of Kerala starts on 12^th December. I am participating for the first time with high hopes of enjoying some great movies and writing some preparatory reviews (for a future in professional film writing). More on that later.

Today, it rained heavily in Arpookara, the beautiful village where I live. Sharada called me and mentioned that Kochi is no different. Rain in December! That’s the unpredictability and beauty of Kerala. There isn’t even a dash of winter here. It is monsoon all the way.

Did I tell you that Sharada, my classmate from UoH (University of Hyderabad) has accompanied me to Kerala? Of course I did not. She is with me for 20 days and will return to Hyderabad after IFFK. Now, she is in Kochi doing rounds in the Jew Street and capturing Synagogue the Sharada way.

So that’s the post after the hiatus. More fun ones will find its way here as a very interesting festival of films awaits me. If someone in Thiruvananthapuram is reading this, try getting a pass and watch some good movies. The array of Malayalam movies itself is very impressive.

IFFK, here I come.