Hakuna Matata !

While Sunderajaperumal entered the Vaigai river amidst chanting of 'Govinda, govinda' (no, not the Kailash Kher, Sarkar Raj version) , I was busy dealing with my dog's death and cursing the hot (but not) thingumajig of a male nurse assigned to my mom when she was hospitalised, for not providing adequate hot water.

While the 'Jaago Re' campaign was a huge success and 500 million voters flipped the bird, I was interning at a law firm, finding new love in airline arbitration matters and trying to convince myself that taking Business law as my honors subject was indeed a sane decision.

While CLAT-2009 was postponed due to alleged Question paper leak, I was steadily getting irritated by having to travel 14 kms in 1.5 hours every morning in peak hour traffic on Mysore Road. I used the time to sight-aduchufy Royal Enfields at the signals, drooled and day dreamt of someday owning my own and sticking a lawyer sticker on the back. 

As LTTE chief Prabhakaran’s body was recovered and subjected to a million identity tests, I was having my own identity crisis - torn between who I am and being the ideal daughter of the house.

While the news channels marqueed the super-intelligent 'Singh is King'- type headlines as the elections came to a close, I was hooked to the Sudoku yet again and busy making myself comfortable on the balcony swing with a cup of filter coffee.

While Dera Sachkhand Ballan head Sant Niranjan Das was attacked in Vienna, I was so hooked to ‘Ene jogi haine jeene hawa kardi’ that I played it on loop on my iPod as I tried to shed the weighty concerns that rice for lunch had inflicted upon me, in the new Reebok gear bought at awesome discount after scouting the city for factory outlets.

While the TV channels replayed footage of the dutiful wife proclaiming "my Shiney is innocent", I was vegetating seven feet away on my couch, trying to find the meaning of my existence in pyjamas, just having woken up at 11am, with the magic Tupperware box of steadily vanishing murukku on my lap.

While the swine-flu swept the nation, I was busy regaling my mother with my mad on-a-shoestring-budget-escapade to Udaipur with Divi and convincing my mother that living in a hostel does not automatically make a non-vegetarian out of every vegetarian kid.

While racism and Australia raced across the front page, I was indulging in some heavy duty flirting – International level. Being single has it’s perks, stop being envious (yes, you Tahini) :P

While the 20-20 world cup was on, I was gifted a Tantra tshirt for being an ignoramus-grande’ when it came to cricket . Cricket fascinated me when Mohammad Kaif used to be on the team – I find him super hot. I can sit through one match, but that’s about it.

While a ten year old identified Ajmal Kasab in the courtroom, I was buying my niece and nephews chocolates and reasoning it as a healthy hobby along the lines of chocolate connossieur-dom with my sister-in-law who I suppose was imagining dinosaur sized cavities in her son’s mouth. That’s the best thing about being an aunt – the lack of guilt. And my niece made my day by saying “ You are too young to be called aunty, may I call you akka?”. I was bonding with the next generation.


While Sarabjit’s review petitions were refused by the Pakistan Supreme Court, I with a lawyer friend was giving a talk on career opportunities in law to a bunch of kids in First PU. ( Two years left – gosh, I need a career!! How they know not how confused I was myself. And how young they are, how old I am!!)

While a genetically modified mosquito was being researched in the labs at Chennai, I was trying to swat the excessively possessive ones at Waterfall tea estate, Valparai that seemed to have developed a liking for my hemoglobin. Sitting on a swing outside a colonial bungalow, in the middle of a 2500 acre tea estate, at sundown, with a view of the mountains wearing fluffy frocks of white clouds, a slight drizzle – it’s potent if you listen to ‘Annie’s song’ by John Denver on your iPod. Tends to make one acutely aware of singledom.

While the CPI (Maoist) was banned, I was feasting on soudhi at my aunt’s place and wishing I could take her or the cook at the Valparai estate, back to university with me.

While Michael Jackson died, I was packing up to get back to University, moping around the house, wondering if I could fit that box of maanga thokku into my already-pregnant-and-bursting bag before it exceeded the 25 kg baggage limit GoAir had prescribed.

While the Section 377 judgment, I was all packed and thinking of how the judgment would make life all the more easier for at least two of my friends.

And now I am in hostel and have no idea what this morning’s headlines are on the Hindu. All I have is a back pain from trying to fit in the sleeping space my yet-to-be-unpacked bags have left in the room and my biggest concern is getting my cooler cleaned before the Ganges shifts base and decides to originate from my forehead on a permanent basis.

There go my excuses for not blogging through the summer. Now let's play a game. Let’s assume I have always been blogging and you have always been reading and skip the 'I'm back!!' soap opera routine.

Hi and Bye.

Yes, just dropped in to say something.

This blog will remain in its present comatose condition for about another two weeks. You see, I have an exam (No, not the one where you lie down and the Doctor is a smoking hot specimen of the opposite sex) - the kinds for which I 'put the scenes' like I'm studying and end up refreshing my Twitter page or calling the tuck shop for Pyaaj parathas.

Hennyways, point being, I will be away from my blog for about three weeks now. One week study holidays. One week exam. One week waiting for the BSNL guy to turn up at my house (the address and location of which by the way says Bangalore - very misleading yes, I live halfway to Tamilnadu) and fix my "wi-fi" connection which only works if I sit with the modem resting on my nose.

So, all ye ANONYMOUS who were until now blocked on this blog, I give ye free reign.

About time, I am reminded bluntly by the dark forces out there is a world out there, outside the realm of 'Anonymous comments = No' world of my Settings page. Unmoderated comments provide an antidote to any ridiculous conclusions I might have arrived at in the course of not-so-many years of blogging here.

Anything you have wanted to say about my blog? They way I write? The way I don't? I suck? You love me? You wish I would send you a few pictures of me for your screensaver (which by the way was a real-life orkut "fraindsheep" scrap attempt. It happened to me.) ? You hate me and wish my shoelaces would untie after every five seconds of tying them? Head straight to the Comments section and leave your message.

I have turned Anonymous comments on and will not be logging into my Dashboard for a good three weeks.

ONLY ANONYMOUS COMMENTS PLEASE.

Say what you please. Looking forward.